My lungs burn, my body burns, my vision is black and my sweat is cold.
I reach out for what I cannot grab. There's nothing but air, but my lungs suck it in and quickly reject it.
Shaking, jittery, flailing in a much too open space that feels as if it's squeezing me lifeless.
Laying on the floor I let my sobs and gasps or breath roll over me, I submerge into it.
The more I fight the longer it takes.
Cheeks wet with salt from my leaky eyes I embrace the panic and fear that racks my body, down to my bones.
I think I might die.
My mind runs and runs and runs because my body isn't.
Air seeps in slowly, like a blow up mattress slowly filling.
Or perhaps deflating via tear.
The panic seeks out, and air returns.
Red and splotchy I sigh.
This never ending spiral down down down.
I sink further into the quicksand.
Time fades around me.
I'm a messy bed with tangled up sheets.
An unkempt mind that you'd never guess.
Immaculate organization, cleanliness, obsessive mind.
Mind rushing, thoughts running.
After a while you forget why you're running.