Behind the Eyes

It starts with a pressure, a dull sort of ache,

not sharp, not a headache, but cold and contained.

Behind the soft bone, a silent earthquake,

a feeling of something, just barely restrained.

Like two tiny stones, pushed up from inside,

against the thin glass where the world comes in clear.

A knowing, a feeling, with nowhere to hide,

that something is coming, and something is near.

Then the tightness, the spread, from the chest to the jaw,

a tremor that's quiet, a shallowing breath.

This body, it knows, it has seen it before,

this small, creeping taste of a miniature death.

And I close my eyes tight, as if I could press

that feeling back down, to the back of my skull.

But it builds, it expands, this silent distress,

till the world starts to shrink, and the colors grow dull.