Panic

Panic comes in the strangest forms. Though usually nothing to laugh at, sometimes it just is.


Panic

Sitting alone, desperately alone

Amongst the various clicking tickings.

What if my nose begins to drip with them?

What then?

Someone must come, but surely they won’t.

I am alone and will remain so.

My legs ache and prickle

Like miniature threats that I’ve been here too long.

And the ticks tick on.

All things within my reach

Are but leaves in the fall--

Dying diversions form the oncoming winter.

Oh! That I had not come here today!

There must be another way.

Alone, undone, cold.

I perish this way.

I am out of toilet paper.