White Storm

With each tick of the clock,

My throat tightens a little bit more,

Slowly strangling me from within.

The walls creep slowly inward,

Threatening, menacing,

Almost taunting me.

The cool black of night,

Has given way to orange and white heat,

My heart races,

My thoughts swirl,

As breath begins to elude me.

I lay silently still, but want desperately to run

Somewhere, anywhere but here, I think.

Yet, I’m frozen

Paralyzed, both by the fear,

And the realization there’s nowhere left to run.

So, here I stay,

Trembling,

Waiting,

Eyes clamped shut,

Inviting back the velvety calm of darkness,

Until the storm has passed.