Words from Inside My Head

Everything is fine, I say, except I feel it coming on 

while reassuring others, there’s nothing going on, 

I pace about and draw the drapes, and say 

there’s nothing I can do, 

except to wait.

It slithers in, just like a snake, encircling, hissing

condemnations, regurgitating memories, taunting 

me about myself, as if it wasn’t me talking 

to myself, offering solutions

I do not want to take.

Too wearied to resist, I submit; it coils, taut around 

my chest, wrapping ‘round my waist, it comes to rest, 

a weighted blanket now nesting on my gut

I’d push it off, release myself, 

but tell myself

that by myself,  I can’t, yet do not call for help. 

Inside my head a question squirms and wiggles, 

is there some kind of comfort that’s 

keeping me from finding ways 

to wriggle myself free?