There's this constant knot of anxiety in my chest, hissing in a code I have yet to decrypt. It pulls at the muscles and braids them into tangles that wrap themselves like vines around my trachea, a lattice of bruising force that throws up dams to block the flow of necessary air through me. My lungs shrink in the lack of thus, the alveoli curling as fists, turning my blood blue.
And yet, not all that pains me, for there are tied stones that weigh me down with every step, drag me to the bottom of this rushing river, water clouding my vision and flooding my mouth. Smoke hangs afore my mind, grey and black spinning a hurricane that steals thoughts with greedy hands, takes away all this quiddity of mine, my name and known hidden, uncertain in their reappearance.