Fat Squirrel

Written February 6, 2015

there’s a stupid tightness in my chest.

the air is too thick but i can’t breathe
enough of it.

my peripheral vision narrows.
i think i’m being wrapped up
like a mummy in foggy cling wrap,
squeezed until

my body is inside my head:

confined to a singular thought.

i get out eventually,
but i can’t unwind
from the feeling.
it’s sticks like static
on my skin.

i want it off.
i want it gone.

and i wonder–
or maybe i know–
if this isn’t the way.

but it’s midnight
and i want to sleep.

i do it anyway.