The anxiety attacks are whirling, circulating, i feel a complete loss of being as I move towards the swirling abyss. Of working, showing, now this.
Not like any of this matters, I clean myself up, show up, pose and strut.
Yet each moment I give in the bucket of my regurgitation, it's made of how'd a leather doll could digest food.
Red fluff began to appear.
"This can't be real, what is this place doing to me?" I thought.
I was changing, i could not put a couch handle on it, as I swallowed myself after the third bucket. Another expulsion of my anxiety. Quick, dead and out. I have to stop.
Didn't matter, best to shine for showtime, and to take the slings and arrows now, other than later. If this happens again though.