The whispers in my skin
scream louder than any voice
creeping through my veins
as my inner panic becomes a drum
each beat echoing louder
in my suddenly hollow chest
my panic wears a face
a face I do not recognise
reflected in the glass
the first call is barely audible
a hairline fracture
slowly spreading across glass
memories become enemies
hope becomes a paper bird
unable to fly away from reality
I am drowning, but not in water
aware of everything all at once
and it is just too much to bear
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 