In a dark corner—

sitting on a chair—

is where I shiver.

Just the simplest of tasks

implode my internal gears.

My blood is a frigid coolant

in my squirming muscles.

Leaving that corner

to descend steep stairs

pits my brain against my stomach.

The world is black outside of my cave.

The terror of walking—

simply walking to a door—

is enough to make my soul

want to vomit out of my mouth.

So I gnash my chattering teeth together

to hinder its flight.

I feel my eyes dropping backwards

into my skull and then down my throat.

My heart stops its vocation

and my body shrivels as it's freeze dried.

Soon, however, the feeling is gone

and I'm back to logical reason again—

back to flesh and blood.

But the fear remains.

Anxiety will always come in

without even knocking the door.