Beetles

Panic attacks can seem…
Pointless.
Jumps up and down.
A sighing yet struggling feeling.

Sighing out so much.
Because it’s boring.
Like a pencil lead from a mechanical pencil breaking.
Then you put more in.

There’s something pointless about it.
I can’t describe.
It used to be a passionate feeling.
Knocking down all the books off the shelf like crazy.

But these days it doesn’t feel like much.
Like wearing one sock because I lost the other.
That pulling and spinning.
It doesn’t define me.

A panic attack is like…
A squealing beetle.
Now I know that I’m the beetle.
And I can crawl onward.

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