Over the Edge

It starts slowly sometimes and then other days it’s upon you like a shower of rain off the hills. A small rage of noise in your stomach, then savagely up to the heart both hands on your throat, a pounding noise that stops everything, sit down try to breathe. Sleep has gotten me out of it but nights have come and gone after waking, wringing water and nightmare, a re-occuring dream of being caught under a falling house or wood, planes of rescue overhead keep going and ignore the plight.

I think I get anxious to say the least, worry about the not too distant future, but I have great ideas around that. If only I could translate them into calm, into a state of well being that let’s the sleep continue. Filmakers would have a rabid wolfdog wander the outskirts of an Emo wood and the backlit breath of this fear is seen clearly in the distance, corny script really, I just have a beside glass of water I can’t reach.

A car outside stops rubber, and back in the city as normal maybe that’s what’s wrong, too close to the centre traffic, long distant trucks and rushing paramedics. A slight dull pain in the chest, the world of wonder strapped badly on my shoulder and sitting up quickly shudder and pass wind, it was only indigestion.

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