Familiar Patterns

I sit on the edge, feel the cold sweat,

tremors surf through fingertips like ghosts,

my heart drums loudly, a tempo set,

breaking into chaos, familiar hosts.

The edge of the bed is my tether, my ground,

each breath a battle, a weight to bear,

my body knows this dance, its rhythm profound,

as I try to find comfort, I’m gasping for air.