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The panic rising. All the good things I tell myself being swallowed into the gulf of my twisted heart. Will they emerge later in truth or are they being strangled and choked by the fear? Here I stand under the full moon, a little girl, scared and lost. Bad things happen to good people all the time or is it bad things to bad people and I am not good. I am not good. I am not worthy. I am good. I am worthy. Reverse psychology. Never the right time or the moment has passed. The compass is spinning, which direction is the right one. My whole self being eaten from the inside until there is nothing left but a dry empty shell. Caving in on myself, where’s the foot pump. People trying to draw me out. Can they smell the decay or are they the life savers. Help comes from the strangest places. Who is that knocking at the door?