Concentrated thoughts bringing on heavy breathing Shutting my eyes but still having the feeling The walls are closing in, so slowly they're creeping, While the center of my gravity becomes more unsteady A number of eyes asking me if I'm ready I feign a calm "yes" hoping nobody read me, Pointing up with a thumb — what an ill-fitting gesture Hoping to convince them to complete the conjecture, They assure me that this is a worthwhile endeavor But why am I still succumbing to pressure? Perhaps it's okay if they view me as lesser... Yet I can't bear to be the source of displeasure, All the while, my vision, growing gradiently black Confirming that assertion is something I lack The scene is set perfect for my panic attack.