PANIC ATTACK

Roll me on your sleeves and walk
I only wish to be your pride
Hold me when we're driving home
It's gonna be a bumpy ride

More madness awaits you in me
Than in literature and art
My drama to keep you company
My romance to soothe your heart

Spell it right, pronounce it wrong
Make me a word you can say
I've already heard too many songs
Haven't heard you call me 'baby'

Broken strings make no sound
But untuned guitars do have tongues
I'm not a singer but I can scream
At the top of my sullen lungs

Verse me on just a torn page
I've dropped hopes of paperback
Preserved history I wish not to be
I'm a poem composed in panic attack

-K.G.
2/6/18