perfectly defective

it was the
perfect storm
except that it
was in my chest
anxiety turned
into panic
and as i lay
trying to breathe
my heart beat me
on repeat through
the thin sheet

i went through
every interaction
i had with anyone
trying to find
the source pushing
my heart to attack me
sleeplessly laying
seeking anything
to explain the
feeling of impending
unending doom

staring at the
uncaring ceiling
drowning in my own
silent pleas and
unsurprisingly
the silence was
the only response
as the night ticked
and i gave up on
any sort of rest
clinging to the hope
that the kids will
fill this massive
sinkhole in my chest

fourteen hours of
anxiety become panic
a perfect storm
churning the waves
in my defective brain
and now it is time
for coffee then work
waiting for the sun
to burn the fog away
audaciously seeking
peace from this
troubled mind of mine

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