The Attack

Merely wrestling to survive

The thorny black vines come from within
A noxious adhesive creeping up my skin
Wrapping around my neck like coiled rope
Solidifying, piercing and siphoning hope

Slammed to the ceiling with fuming force
My crimson soultears drip from the thorns
I'll be held here until I find my inward wind
Until I command the lungs to breathe again

This wraith, while frightening, is familiar
It slithers out to play at the smell of fear
A living strand of dark, tightening terror
Mercilessly demanding every gasp of air

Enough time has elapsed; it's had its fun
The slow steadying of the heart has begun
The shade snarls and retracts its thorns
It loosens its grip and I drop to the floor

The venomous tendrils reduce to strands
Dissolving each moment my chest expands
Releasing a final sigh with its parting burn
Leaving wounds to nurse before its return

Author's Note

Photo: http://www.studiodaily.com/2013/11/venom-strikes-again-in-truth-in-journalism/

Reviews

[Shy Joe]

Great rhyming. I interpret this as a panic attack, as I have suffered a few. That is what this invokes out of me anyways.

Great Poem. Thanks for sharing.

[Cobblestone Traveler]

Thank you so much for reading, and you are right on the money. I appreciate your review.