Making them shorter doesn’t
make them any easier. The panic

rises heavy handed. Sorrow
so deep my chest aches brings

out memory, the flashes.
Nothing to do but breathe.
Nowhere to go but through.
Medication can only carry me

to my crystalline end. I will
shatter to slate. I will shatter
again to pebbles. My veins
run with ice and glass, my heart
banging on the door to my ribs
screaming to be let loose.
Breathe and release.
My skull is a metaphor.