Panic Attack
This was when life left us and good sense abandoned us and the music was noise and the art was just paint and souls were just pawns and children were just burdens and words were just sounds and the world was just light and organisms exploding and spinning and seizing and falling, so I ran. I sprinted n ninety-nine degrees and my breath was just air and men were just obstacles and clothes were just weight and my memories were just blurred images and truth was nothing. Nothing. I hit nothing when I hit the malecon. The ocean lead to nothing. I let myself fall into the nothing, opened my eyes and let the polluted and salty water burn them. I floated in the ocean, letting my felt get scratched as they hit th rocks and my lungs empty as I refused to grasp for air. My clenched fists relaxed and my hot body cooled and I was weightless and my heart stopped drumming and my ears stopped banging and my head stopped spinning.
and what did the Mute Philosopher say . . .