The clock on the wall,
infuriating ticks
that count down to my future,
like a harbinger of doom.

The sound goes right through me
bringing me to a stop-
my breath stills
knees shake
fingernails dig in to the palm
but even that can't ground me.

Now I'm the clock
ticking, counting, waiting to strike
at the moment of my downfall.
Living in a vacuum
a far-off lost dimension
where words make no sense
and time moves at an altered pace.

Altered pace
altered state-
someone save me from my fate.
They can't find me
or bring me back
because they can't speak the language
of the far-off lost dimension.

Arms and legs
numb.
My lungs
are rebels now- refusing air.
The words are trapped in my mind.
"I can't breathe."
"Help me."
Can't they see my anxiety?