I wind you around and around and drive your breath out of you quick quick in time to your rapid heart and you fight me with deep breaths and meditation but I am insidious and claw my way back up through the tendrils of calm that gossamer and melt like cotton candy in water not being eaten by a raccoon and the colors bleed swirls of not good enough not thin enough not smart enough not enough and I glisten in the dark a slimy horror you can’t slip away from as Pacman gobbles you in pellet form. You don’t even rate as a ghost. It’s not that you wouldn’t make a good ghost. I’m sure you would but here in this place, you don’t. You are only a pellet and not a very tasty one. He would spit you out if he could but he must continue on, chomping everything in his path. You think to yourself as you wallow in the yellow belly of the beast as acid eats away at your chalky pellet body why couldn’t I be a ghost this time around.
