"Control" by Alisha T.

I am the breath that will not come.


A mouth sealed shut with invisible thread,


lungs full of fire and nothing else.


I choke on silence.

I swallow noise.

Tick-count-tick. 


Eyes dart like trapped birds 


in a cage built of maybe,


of what-if, of did I lock the door?


The world folds in—creases sharp with doubt—


and I bleed from invisible seams. again.

Again-AGAIN! Until it’s perfect.

I claw at the walls of thought.


But thought is endless.

Thought is loop.
Thought is rot beneath clean skin.


I dial the number again. Again.
Again. 


The answer is never enough.


The answer is never real.

I wimper at the echos of what-ifs.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until it’s right.


Until safe doesn’t feel like a lie. 


Until my skin is not a prison


stitched too tight with nerves and knowing.


I hate this.
I am this.

I am a scream that forgot how to sound.


I am a breath that mocks me as it leaves.


I am awake inside a storm


that wears my face


and counts the seconds


until I can count no more.

But I count anyway.


Tick. Tick.
 Repeat.

There is no end.


Only again.

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