When the storm abates
Not a single trace
Remains of its lashing
Upon the senses,
Or the dredged up drowned
Tatters of a conscience
That was peppered
By the relentless sting of doubt.

The calm peaks through the gloom
Into the unassuming eye
And hypnotises.
Wiped clear are thunderous
Clouds, all grey with self loathing,
Deprecating droves of icy
Words that circled tornado-like
In the torrential downpour of your world
As it crashed round your feet
Its smytherins the pieces
You used to open old wounds
And soothe the ache within.
Gone are those tell-tale tracks
Upon the arm, upon the heart
The route to all your evils.

Because the sun is out
And clear skies mark the mind
In shades of sweetest blue
All calm and cool in the aftermath
Where nothing is all that bad,
And you cant be sure
There ever was a storm.

The anxiety I feel is a thunder storm brewing in my stomach
It looms like dark heavy clouds,
wringing droplets of sweat from my forehead like a tightly twisted towel of wet hair
My thoughts are as agitated as a swarm of locusts in their gregarious phase
stuck inside my body
They beat against the curvature of my ribs like paranoid mockingbirds repeatedly warding off their reflections on windows

Fear feeds off the burning acid surging around the pounding fist between my lungs
The tunnel entry to my throat is dry
my breaths short and shallow
I’m drowning in my own inward tears frantically waving my paralyzed arms
I have only myself to save myself
Then, a split in the clouds snatches my attention focusing on searching for safer ground
I methodically breath deep and slow to find my onward way
I look back, exhausted, with a sense of close call, a narrow escape...
Wondering if next time I’ll make it