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.