Pressure Point

The doctor looks up, eyebrows arched, an unspoken case,

this crumpled paper weighs heavier than I can face.

The numbers pulse, a clock ticking in my chest,

what’s normal now feels like a test of the best.

I swear I can hear each beat as it cries,

as if each moment flares, panic in disguise.

Blood rushed to thoughts that should remain distant,

yet here I am, shaken, with numbers persistent.

Do they know that this reading steals my calm?

Like shadows lurking, ready to drop the bomb.

In the silence, a heartbeat's muffled call,

where time morphs slow, and I brace for the fall.