Zebra Seeking Spoons

It starts beneath the skin—

a tremor I can’t name,

small, electric,

like a wire humming too close to water.

My chest forgets its rhythm,

breath becomes a narrow hallway.

Every thought grows sharp edges,

rattling against my ribs.

My stomach tightens,

a fist around nothing.

Even my hands feel loud—

heartbeats echoing in the palms.

The world narrows to static,

to the sound of my own pulse

arguing with the air.

And still I smile,

steady on the surface—

a bridge holding

while the ground shakes beneath it.