69.

I feel like I should put a clause in this post: It's just a poem, people, not a state of mind. Lol.

Icy fingers trace

unreadable patterns

as sweat beads on

arms, neck,

forehead, legs.

Heart pulses icy sludge

through veins,

reaching first the heart,

then lungs, torso,

fingers, toes.

Breathing changes from instinct

to conscious movement,

concentrating now on the

rise and fall,

rise and fall,

rise and fall.

Fighting the paralysis

creates resistance,

like breathing surfactant

through primitive gills.

Terror rises,

thoughts race toward

impending doom,

perpetuating the cycle

until at last adrenaline wanes,

heart beat slows,

blood warms,

fear fades,

and the body, once again,

returns to Resting State.