Curling her fingers through her hair, she gently massages her scalp. Droplets of water descend upon her, pushing the shampoo down the dampened length of her hair and running down the rest of her bare skin. The steady drum of the water beats against her exhausted muscles.
Her eyes stare straight ahead at an unseen object. Misty. Unfocused. Torn. Her brain begins to wander through its thoughts. Past. Present. Future.
Starting at the knees, her legs begin to tremble. They quiver and quake, before finally giving out. She tumbles, quickly and silently to the ground.
And suddenly, nothing is okay.
Using her arms for support, she leans against them. They tremor against the weight of the exhaustion they hold added to the physical weight of her body. Her lungs seek oxygen. Lips parting in a quick pant, she realizes she can't breathe as well as she previously could.
The rhythmic pattern of the water on her skin suddenly becomes hands that grab onto her skin. Pulling, yanking, punching. Her mind is too far gone, she can't stop the terror of the panic attack that consumes her.
She tries to pick through her stormy mind for reasons as to her panic. Stress. Exhaustion. Pain. Long days. Depression so consuming it eats her whole. How much longer can she go? She wonders.
Her green eyes, they flutter rapidly as tears well in the corners and spill down her porcelain face.
When can I end this? She wonders.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoesíaAfter all, we are all just a big bunch of broken humans that are trying to stay alive in a world that will do anything to bring us to our knees.
