Stay in bed
Close the blinds
**** the lights
Listen to your breathing
Listen to a faint pulse
Listen to blood gushing through your ears
Listen to your head
The thoughts you can't describe
The blood in your ears
And try to breathe
But anxiety lays on you like a heavy blanket
And your chest heaves to no avail
Blood in your ears
Get up and move but there's no where to go
Limbs are too heavy
Blood in your ears
Pulse elevating
Suffocating under some invisible demon
Gasping, gasping
Blood
in
your
ears.

When you're on the hunt for your own blood,
You'll beg hypochondria to **** you.

I just want the pain to float away into outer space far far millions of light years away and fill me with vibrant healthy radiating luminescence to battle my worries that keep me awake and creating more anxieties upon my body aching contracting squeezing fear into tiny stress dynamites exploding inside internally introverted paranoia worst case scenario expectations this is probably nothing and I am driving myself sick with my illness of mind quantum imbalanced fields vibrating and reacting to thoughts well stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop feeling stop feeling stop feeling for just a second to pull this all together before I fall apart and disintegrate and my optimistic limbs fall off leaving me with empty pockets empty answers tests and x-rays determining the origin of breath loss gnawing biting monsters eating my structure within images of myself bleeding obliviously not waking up because I am too stubborn to acknowledge I am not invincible to myself anatomy is an art form and I painted this hurt.

Done with The Good Things.
Finished with Hypochondriasis.
Ending each sentence,
With a period.
For Heaven's sake,
finality is too elusive.
And I just want to muster the vocal power
To tell you
I need you gone.
I need you gone from my eyes,
Because you are too **** close.
And I can't stop running.

I've finished with The Good Things.
It's over.
I'm done.