I would politely ask you to stop talking

and the red would show through

but i’d force it down

to a meek whisper

my fingers twitch

itch and fiddle

my watch is too tight

there’s things crawling up my back

I’m itchy

talking becomes yelling

my vision is a dark tunnel

i hear ringing

clanging and banging

white noise becomes static

on the walls

on the ceiling

I am falling without a vine to catch.

- anxiety