Five, Four, Three, Two, One.

Can’t breathe, one, two, three.

In, out, one, two, three.

Grounding techniques…

Grounding techniques.

Start by naming five things that I can see:

The door that’s four feet away if need be,

The cheery cherry candle on my desk,

The rainbow of pills in the serving dish,

My coat laying atop the clothing mess,

All my plaques that lie and call me the best.

No, no, maybe four things I can feel-

The cold leather couch against my heel,

My cat sitting worried on my lap,

The sweat on my neck that feels like sap,

‘Round my neck, the eagle I hold dear,

Now what about three things I hear?

My breathing coming short and fast,

My mom in the hall walking past,

I think next door something just fell,

What’s next, two things I can smell?

The onions from tonight’s meal.

And soap I’m not sure is real.

One thing that I can taste?

Blood I drew in my face.

I bit through my lip,

Inside my cheek too,

But, I’m less shaky,

My breath is steady,

When did the switch flip?

I am confused.

At least I’m not worried,

For tonight, this saved me.