Panic Attack
I hear the storm
long before the clouds roll in.
A swarm of angry locusts
creates a cacophony
that accompanies the goblet drum
my heart is playing.
The racket reverberates through my body
while the storm sends cracks of echoing thunder,
and gusts of wind,
rattling through my ribs.
My mouth is dry,
but my hands are clammy
and my sweat fills the trenches
my fingers have dug between my knuckles.
My body is the mighty baobab tree,
with limbs steady and planted.
I can not run from the storm,
but I am strong enough to face it.