7/10/17

Ball in my Chest..

Tastes like a plastic pail. 

Left on the beach all afternoon, warmed by the sand, softened by the sun.
Red. 

Hot tea can not reach far enough to sooth this type of discomfort. 
A wound too deep for surface bruising.

Everything has turned into a manual process. 
I can only focus on breathing. 

In, and out. 
Once more.
In, and, out. 

Oh, so that's part of panic disorder. 
Awesome. 

Look at me go. 


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