I try to quell the throbbing in my throat,
The one that beats with a jagged rhythm,
Like a drummer sitting on my windpipe,
Thrumming a muddled song.
He starts without warning, without proper reason.
Always waiting in the wings,
For his captive audience.
I wish I could ignore him,
Or abolish him completely.
But for now,
All I can do is slide down a white pill
Ending the show,
Before it builds to a symphony.