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White Storm

Anxiety, Panic Attacks and the Comfort of Nighttime

By Misty RaePublished 3 years ago 1 min read
6
(artwork credit: Carl Parker www.parkerart.ca)

With each tick of the clock,

My throat tightens a little bit more,

Slowly strangling me from within.

The walls creep slowly inward,

Threatening, menacing,

Almost taunting me.

The cool black of night,

Has given way to orange and white heat,

My heart races,

My thoughts swirl,

As breath begins to elude me.

I lay silently still, but want desperately to run

Somewhere, anywhere but here, I think.

Yet, I’m frozen

Paralyzed, both by the fear,

And the realization there’s nowhere left to run.

So, here I stay,

Trembling,

Waiting,

Eyes clamped shut,

Inviting back the velvety calm of darkness,

Until the storm has passed.

inspirational
6

About the Creator

Misty Rae

Retired legal eagle, nature love, wife, mother of boys and cats, chef, and trying to learn to play the guitar. I play with paint and words. Living my "middle years" like a teenager and loving every second of it!

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