phobias are a bitch, female to be sure, but depression
is as churchill called his, "my black dog."
and those dogs i know, are male with big fucking balls! mine
may have a grey muzzle by now but his teeth are still sharp.


(yes, the f word, the ONLY word that fits)



my panic


starts as a moth
shredding fragile wings
as it tries to free itself
from the prison bars
of rib bone and muscle
the vibration of it's terror
runs like electricity
down goosefleshed arms
to numbed fingertips
shocks my eyes wide
breath catches between
in and out
the current runs down
through bowels, legs
soles, stiffened toes dig into
my shoes.
needing to run hide, instead
i curl into a ball that's
caught
in an adrenalin rush to nowhere.