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