Your Fairy Tale

I feel it up to here, brimming, thick, hot. I inhale, the air, it moves past dry lips, cold over my tongue. My chest expands, I see it, but. Air isn't carrying oxygen, I inhale faster, faster, but I am constricted, my throat, it's tight, clogged, I can feel it, up to here, brimming. And there is nothing I can do.*

*Beth Gibbons said that, not me. I am but a medium, or, Anxiety Riddled Childe of Thesis. I did some of it today, a bit.