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.

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