Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Cyn's Poetry Collection - 10. Chapter 10
Panic, sharp and insistent.
Heavy and suffocating.
I can't seem to rise against this.
It's burying me under my fears.
Fingers like claws desperately cling,
Praying for some ray of light.
A ray to penetrate the foggy darkness,
Illuminating anything substantial and real.
Relief, sharp and intense,
As a thin line of red thickens.
Another slash and more red.
The panic recedes slash by slash.
The fog lifts with each new sting,
More lines of red dripping,
Sliding down satiny pale skin,
Chasing the panic and fog away.
Red, bright and cool,
Congealing all around.
I cannot rise against this;
It’s buried me under my fears
- 1
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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