The meltdown.

I haven’t had a meltdown in a long time, but I am going to write a poem about it. My last meltdown was when I was 5-6 years old.


The siren is screaming and shrieking, shrieking, shrieking in my ear

The flash of the light is too bright, too bright.

It is an evil thing, this thing that I cannot stop.

I feel a scream coming on, fireworks are in my brain.

My head is whirling, I’m in so much pain.

I scream and run and run, far, far, away.

Somebody tries to comfort me, she tries to call me back, but all I can hear is my own scream of pain.

I run, keep running and running until I arrive at the door.

I burst through the door, but there is a crowd, I feel scared.

I start screaming again, people stare at me.

“What’s wrong with that child?” they are probably thinking.

I scream, and scream, and scream.

After a while, the pain subsides, I stop screaming and to my surprise, my head stops whirling, and I am alright, once again.


photo credit: JoeBenjamin <a href=”″>calling a wahmbulance</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>(license)</a&gt;





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