A litre of water seeps from my face,
My stomach ties in knots,
My heart quickens its pace.
Intestines clenched and bladder squeezed,
My mouth is dry like a dying tree.
But what is the cause of this behavioural mess,
With thoughts and feelings in distress?
I scare myself and regress to child,
Replaying emotions I once had filed.
I feel on edge; my body on parole.
What will it take to gain control?
This story playing in my mind,
To the present moment I am blind.
My hearing’s heightened like a fleeing fawn,
I’m running from these images I’ve drawn.
I scare myself I know that now,
My breathing’s shallow – I wipe my brow.
I close my eyes and inhale a breeze,
A sigh of clarity as the paranoia leaves.
I have returned; I’m here; I’m now,
My heartrate’s calming, I don’t know how,
I feel my feet upon the ground,
No longer attuned to every sound.
I scare myself, that’s what I do,
But I don’t have to and nor do you
By Richard Bamford