I found a string one day.
I started pulling.
A tension grew.
My chest got tighter.
Afraid to lose it.
I started tying.
My pulse got strained.
My chest was aching.
I let it go.

It went away.

I heard a sound one day.
I started listening.
A stirring noise.
My ears were ticking.
Afraid to lose it.
I stopped talking.
My breath grew silent.
My lungs were gasping.
I let it go.

It went away.

I felt an itch one day.
I started scratching.
A stinging wound.
My skin got bloody.
Afraid to lose it.
I started ripping.
My nails grew longer.
My spine was tingling.
I almost had it.

It reached my hand.

I found a string that day.
I started pulling.
A ball of thread.
My chest was burning.
Afraid to hold it.
I started shaking.
My grip was cramping.
My head was spinning.
I let it go.

It went away.

I found a cage one day.
I started searching.
A sorrow grew.
My cage was empty.
Afraid to see it.
I clawed my eyes out.
My skin got stale.
My bones went dusty.
I let it go.

I went away.