it scares me at times
staring at the ceiling with my stomach in my throat
and my hands across my chest
feeling my pulse in my wrist
my heartbeat in my breast
keenly aware of the fact that i'm alive and yet
terrified to live and yet
terrified that the pulse will weaken
and i'll fade away to nothing.

patterns in the texture on the ceiling
making pictures in the shadows
hearing lectures through the windows
shutting insanity out
barring the door, and
shutting insanity in
eyes darting
picking out imperfections in the crease of wall and ceiling.

terrified of living this way

inches away from eternity
can feel the pressure built up
and building
in welling eyes
and aching limbs
and sagging shoulders
questioning the voices
and fearing the answer:
is this all there is?