Anxiety

A balloon is filled, and then more, and more, and again more. You are waiting for it to pop, you hold your breath as you hesitate and wait.

The gun is loaded, the safety released, finger on the trigger, resting against it, ready. You wait and you hold your breath, any minute now, any second, keep waiting.

The plane will land, lower and lower and lower. The wheels will eventually touch, they have to, but you are still going lower and lower.

You're deep underwater. Hold your breath or you will die. The water will consume you. Hold it in, but you can't control it, there is a balloon expanding against your ribs, pushing out on the walls of your chest, they will surely explode.

Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet like the song my daughter listens to about black socks.