Uneasy

It slithers in. Quietly, in the disguise of a friend, it slithers in and sits down.
There's a stare. Chilling, cold. It doesn't go away.
There's a brief moment of silence followed by a distinct buzz they call lucidity.
Well, you can try to call it that.
Truth be told millions of flies and mosquitos are now circling the mind.
There isn't clarity.
It's black. For the next few moments your eyes will forget how to focus.
The room looses air. Although you've been sitting you feel as if you've run a marathon without your precious inhaler.
Every repressed emotion, every forgotten thought comes flying in.
The filters are gone. The barriers are broken.
Your hands seek to grasp anything. You regret not filing down your nails. Unable to find that squeeze the itch grows.
Minutes ago your fists were turning white, now your thighs will become a writing post.
The sensitivity grows. Noises creep up. Thoughts increase.
You're going to burst into a thousand asymmetrical pieces.
Just as your body begins to break the kind stranger slithers away,
and the energy leaves with it.
You're tired.
Any resistance put up has left this vessel drained.
Your friend has left for now, time to relax.