Processing

My demons live inside me.
My insecurities breathe air.
Walking, talking, destruction.
My shoulders tighten
Head aches
Stomach turns
My hands are usually empty
Because I deal with this alone.
Phones turned off, silent, ignored.
Who I need most can't be bothered.
Opinions get loud waking the weary.
Panic responds.
Lonely echos.
If you stay still, quiet,
You can hear my heart giving up.