Attacked

by Steph Ferguson about a year ago in sad poetry

A Poem About Anxiety

Attacked

She waits everyday in silence for things to get better. The demons inside continue to fight,

Against her happiness.

It's the pain nobody else feels.

Nobody can help; the worst part.

First, it's the feeling that all the breathable air has been sucked out of you. She feel herself breathing in, soon to realize, its nothing.

Then, the world spins.

Everyone else's point of view: Shes. fine.

The dizziness is the devil. Desperately circling Her till all light fades away.

Then the monster arrives.

Fear.

She cant go near a mirror, for, the reflection only traumatizes her.

Shut all the windows and blinds.

Turn off the radio, and TV too.

This monster slowly rips at Her mind.

The feeling she has when she looks at her faint reflection is one nobody wants to feel. She looks down at her trembling hands and her aching legs and stomach.

She feels like they aren’t even her own.

You cant talk to Her, for she cannot communicate. She holds back so desperately the vomit. With every breath she takes She only wishes it would end.

Her breath; Trembling. Pulsating. Lungs squeezed to a close.

Seconds go by. Minutes. Hours.

But Her ears.

Oh, they seem to hurt her too.

The noises enclose Her in an inescapable envelope; Sealed with Her tears. She hears noises. Voices. Sounds.

Nothing even She has the knowledge to explain.

She is alone.

Everyday seems to get worse.

There is no escape.

No doorway out, no window to climb through, no flashing EXIT sign

To help her escape it every time the devil comes by and takes her on a trip to Hell.

No one understands Her.

The storm hits at the worst times. She cant do what She wants.

No preforming.

No speaking.

No fun. No games. No risks. No love.

All because of this monster embedded inside her. All She has: herself. And what she already knows. No room for more love, risks, and life.

Capacity. Full.

One moment, She laughs, giggles, smiles, and lives.

The next: everything around her seems to want to hurt her.

The Walls; They close in.

The Bed: It summons Her to lay on it, only so it can strangle her already weak body in the sheets. The Floor: Trying to pull Her down with it.

The Mirror: Screams at Her. Her reflections stare back at her with watering eyes.

The Windows: Shooting in sunlight, over whelming her senses.

She suddenly sees the world differently.

But then this sour drop arrives. Entering through Her mouth. It soothes Her.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Eight drops of life.

Each drop killing the monster.

She is herself again. She can breathe again See again.

Hear again.

She can think again. She can live again.

But only until the monster arrives once more to try and kill her...

sad poetry
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Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Steph Ferguson

College student who loves to read and write. 


See all posts by Steph Ferguson