panic

Panic is red.

A little dot,

Till it spreads,

Like blood that won’t clot.

A metallic taste,

A frantic mind,

A frozen face,

So much hidden behind.

Panic is cold,

Seeping into your bones,

Movements uncontrolled,

Heart weighed down by stones.

A hard-earned gasp of air,

Choked down by an invisible hand,

The feeling of being stripped bare,

An hourglass running out of sand.

This poem was awarded Gold Key by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards.