Panic

Swallow my sorrow. Anxiety is an open hole full of falling rabbits and innocent girls in blue lace dresses. Clocks tick, punching an insistent beat at the back of my throat behind where thoughts push at bubbling surfaces and drown. My skin pulls in on itself, trying to contain these restless fingers tempting unraveling strings. Faith is an unsewn hemline falling at your feet. Wooden boys are a child’s toys and trees sprout from hope’s growing face. This is not a race to see how fast walls can make me break. A line is drawn. My hands are thick and full of sand, wanting nothing to do with teeth searching for hints of blood. A butterfly’s wings are trapped beneath boneless breasts, and freedom is sweet enough to taste. A dream on paper is a chance at life, and vampires don’t like to wait. Roads fork while thoughts spoon and this fluttering heart is enough to dull the knife’s quiet blade.