Safe.

 I am not safe here

or with anyone,

anywhere I go at the moment.

I need to protect myself 

from my own thoughts,

my inner earworms whisper

words of doubt.

In order to protect myself from

the depths of my own mind

it seems I have to 

dive in a bit deeper first.

I am not safe here;

my mind is under attack

and my body feels hollow.

I need water,

I need shelter,

I need peace of mind.

I am not safe here,

but I wouldn't be safe there either,

would I?

Defeated is my pride,

deflated is the balloon that once

carried my spirits sky-high.

I am not safe here

where the floor is sandpaper and

my knees keep buckling beneath me.

Where a hiccup means

the end of my world as I know it,

my personal apocalypse at the height of

my own stuttered breath.