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Anxiety Won the Match.

Fear is just torture,
enduring dying
without the mercy of death.

Here I am
again, fighting just
to breathe.

Can’t stop shaking
for the life of me.

Teeth clenched like a vice.
I can hear them grinding,
squeaking, cracking.

Like sand and blood
in my mouth.

Hot flashes and cold sweats.
White knuckles on the wheel
as I drive through the rain tonight, windshield turned to a fluid,
living blur
of deadly colors and lights.

Pressure inside
to a fever pitch.
Sound the alarms.
All hands on deck.

Attention flooded
with red alert.

Be sure
not to hydroplane,
swerve into the other
lane or veer,
go bury yourself in a ditch.

Rain slows,
clouds part, offering
visibility at last.

Calming, shameful:
anxiety won the match.


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