Affliction

Pulsating tendrils of terror Weave themselves through my brain, Around my heart. Squeezing. Strangling logic. Peace shattered by panic's explosion. My hands, slick with sweat, Tremble violently. My stomach Twists itself into knots. My heart Is a run away train. God help me! I'm going to die! Over and over and over like a Recurring nightmare, I am thrown Into the maelstrom of irrational fear. A gun to your head kind of fear. A nightmare I can't wake up from. Sanity is waning -- Must. Get. Help! Anxiety Panic Disorder, they call it. A chemical imbalance of the brain, they call it. I call it hell. 12/14/2011 Kim Merryman (Thank God, I did receive medical attention and have been on medication for 22 years. I rarely have an attack now.) Entered in PD's "May the Best Descriptive Poem Win..." contest