Short Imprecation Poems

The wrenching from within me is unbearable. 
Hair, all along my arms, raise. 
As if static electricity had been the entirety of me.
All the while, the skin grows cold, clammy.

I'm unable to confess my deteriorated state.
It's a sickness unlike any other; inexplicably daunting.
To whom may console me? Alleviate my pain?

I seek release,
 from such a cumbersome,
 and execrated imprecation.

My 'conflict-averse' paranoia....

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