In all of its forms, fear laces the edges of all our lives. Like some kind of textured growth, creeping ever closer to the center of our beings. And I've wondered and thought about for a while now, that life isn't about new beginnings - it's about small deaths. Everyone wants to start over, and believe that they've left behind their past. Parts of themselves better forgotten than remembered. It's bullshit - every pain you've suffered, every tear that's left its mark upon your face matters - as for these, there is no such thing as rest in peace.

Because the pieces of you that die don't go quietly.

I think that they writhe, wail, and scream in streaks of arterial blood spraying the walls of your psyche. These events traumatize us, when they happen. They're the tragedy that begs for attention, when you're down and out like this you are raw, and unstable, and a mess. It's the first phase.

The second is much more pervasive. It's the rot, the stench of loss that permeates your thinking. The days that you feel "off" or unsteady, are the result. I think that we adapt to it, work on replacing it, to better ourselves when little pieces of our minds are so very reluctantly six feet under.

The third phase is the worst, in my opinion. When we look back, memories strike us where it counts - over the old wounds. These are what I like to call the stain. It's what remains after everything's rotted down to little thin nothings, and the blood has gone from liquefied ruby-colored suffering to crusted, coppery brown-black ugliness embedded in the carpet of our minds. We can never truly clean ourselves, because these reminders are the only thing we're too close to part with. They're unpredictable, everywhere, and there is no accounting for them - the threat of the scab, the stitches breaking open again is all too real. It's humanity's best way of forgetting.

The wounds that we refuse to dress will never heal, so we cut them off to wither away.

A thousand crimson deaths, every single day.

It opens like a sinkhole inside of me

draining control from my entire body

till I am still and silent externally;

this inner demon we call anxiety.

I was having a conversation

with my mom and twin,

when I went out of operation

and withdrew deep within;

it wasn't triggered by word

nor by tone or topic,

but the way reality blurred

and I couldn't stop it.

Tears streamed in rivers

down my cheeks to hit my sheets

as I tried to find comfort in bed.

My throat was invaded by a fist,

the pressure of being different,

as tangibly intangible as mist,

unable to self-explain to kin.

Motor functions shut down.

Logical thought shut down.

A cocoon of emotions all around,

with a butterfly that can't climb out.

So, I tried to remember something I read,

about helping someone out of an attack,

to focus on the senses to make sense of the rest,

but I couldn't remember the facts.

black, yellow, brown, orange, white, red, blue-

I mentally listed colors to help me through;

wood grain, sand paper, speaker mesh, glass-

I mentally listed textures to save my own ass;

square, circle, bottle, coffin, mug, triangle, oval-

I mentally listed shapes to help me get it over;

but there was an impassable mountain in my chest,

that distracted thoughts couldn't seem to best.

Thirty full minutes of silent tears of inner pain,

gear-grid-lock inside my nervous system and brain,

fully aware, yet unresponsive just the same,

claimed by the panic attack of anxiety's reign.

The only way out is through,

crude map drawn by time,

refined by my inner coup,

to take back whats mine.

Life.

You see, a panic attack of anxiety

is like being alive but ceasing living,

everything is sensed hyper-vividly,

and somehow too, also blindingly

to the mind that binds absolutely.

So please, be patient with me.

-M.E.

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I had a dream the other night. It started like the same dream I've had so many nights before. Taken by the water. Lost and alone. Drowning. But this time it was different. I wasn't fighting. I wasn't trying to swim to the surface. No, I was watching life from beneath it all. I could feel the tides try to take me. I could see the faces searching for me. I could see him try to rescue me. But I stayed there on that cold dark floor. I felt like this is all I knew. That I would always be alone watching the tides try to chase me. 

Covering my ears when people try to tell me I'm not alone.

You're wrong. This cold earth was my friend. And this view of the world from beneath life was the only thing I needed to breathe.

I'm sitting here at this long table, 

Empty seats,

Muddy conversation-

Reminds me of my heart.

How do I repair?

So I'm here.

Self hating,

Looking for your face in every face.

I can't find you-

Anywhere.

When I put my feet on the ground

I know they will take me to you.

I just don't know if I'm following 

the footprints of a ghost.

Chasing after something that I already buried.

But I'm looking anyways.

I'm burning my own tracks.

And praying I find a welcome mat.

And Not a locked door.

Who left the door open?

The cold is taking over, 

those words left unspoken,

the horrid things that were. 

We all die a little sometimes, 

don't you ever let me go,

remembering the hard times, 

all from ages and ages ago. 

In these words I write, 

I say all I didn't before, 

tears spilled late at night. 

all this and what for?

Is it better to forget it all,

or see the writing on the wall?

=

These days she wakes up the first of the week

Before the sun kisses the sky

to dance around her rabbit hole

In the glow of the silent glade

In twilight they move as poetry

His company, coup de grace

Brings light into her stillness

a beautiful brush of jade

She swears she must be dying

Merciful and sweet, embrace

It all feels like a grande delusion

Don't wake me from the glow of the glade

Honey has eyes like the sea

                                     Bet they see right through me

Numb to their pain.

Unable to bear it with them.

Unsure of how to offer support.

Who do I think I am,

To call myself your friend?

I'm sorry 

I can't be the kind of better

That you all so rightfully deserve.