The silent knot inside my throat,
Slips down in through my heart,
It opens, closes, clenches, wrenches,
In a space that catches breath.

An inner voice whispering fear,
Inner child with a nervous thread,
Treads through my shallow rock pools,
With a cautious tip-toe tread.

The air seems thick like India,
Swallowing my useless pride,
But in crisp shades of grey,
It’s raining icicles outside.

I breathe out bags of matted carpet,
Unfolding in tufts of dirt,
Heavily creased with dampness,
With a smell of tepid nervousness .

I cannot put myself at ease,
Terror arches in my posture,
I force yellow layers from my lungs,
Like the stillness in stale water.

Not strong, not straight, I shrink,
Forward with eyes cast down,
Imagination gone pessimistic ,
With a dull relentless sound…

I hit the ground.