When I Fidget in Silence

I know it in my chest

first. the breadth of

my heart fades back into

its physical boundary. beats

rumble against my breast

with the same intensity

they used to resonate

with the world. I catch

my breath and strangle it

until oxygen is diffused by

my lungs. shortness of breath

is to feel that something is

searching for Sun inside me

because the strobe of my

quickening gasps bring less

illumination than epilepsy

and the sight of the door

before the greater world flickering

out of existence like some

stop motion solar eclipse

causes seizures that send

this tortured something

crashing into my ribcage

at one, now, nearly two

hundred beats per minute

because my chest is

too full to nurture anything

but blood that thrums delirium

and this frenzied S.O.S

is the only way it can

relay its claustrophobia.

and since Hollywood lied

about the need for

bite block and strap

I do not have to

worry about my tongue

which I let rip through

whatever cautiously edges

into the border of my

internal focus. the stimulus

is too nauseating to swallow

when this malnourished need is

clawing at my viscera.

scarring the lock on

what is visceral within me

into disrepair and

I’m afraid to release

the howl my throat grips

tighter than any treasure

because I already know

Pandora’s Truth and refuse to break

the sound barrier with the force

of my cries for silence and peace

because my spirit will not

crumble with everything I’ve built

and there is no relief in knowing that

I am the epicenter of destruction

endless miles around me.

So, if I am

Quietly absorbed in

Playing with some

Mundane thing then...

Let me be.