Chest tightening in its struggles,
a reminder of need,
a recurring panic when I can’t breath.
and then another
and still there’s nothing there.
Tingling beneath the skin spreading.
Lightheaded as stars appear.
Sweat coats my skin in glistening fear.
Fear feeds anxiety
causing the breaths to come quicker,
a desperate effort to grasp what isn’t there.
The mucus blocking the oxygen I need
refuses to surface, of course,
because these damaged lungs possess no force.
A few minutes on a bench
greeting passersby with a pained smile,
their hurried steps passing my ongoing trial.
Determination born of survival,
a need to fight to my gasping last
when my need for air has past.
©October 2015, Christina Anne Hawthorne