Five-Day Panic Attack Erik Moyer
My chest knocks like the police. I jangle awake four hours before my alarm. I dreamt of you again. Now, you greet me. Every hour of every day, you greet me. A ghost, a grandfather clock. I retch the night’s stomach acid into my cat’s litterbox. The dawn air is wet with heat, yet I shiver like a chihuahua without its striped sweater. I haven’t eaten in two days, my gut a raisin. I down another triple dose of SSRIs and baby aspirin. I haven’t achieved an erection in six days. I crawl to the balcony for a drag. The flame trembles in my hands like a sinner. My heart is a woodpecker egg hatching. I want you out but need you in. I can see the Barcelona sun sprout from the sea like a golden turnip. The orchids reach skyward in morning prayer. I step outside myself and drive a hatchet through my skull. This calms me.
The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism
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