Malaise

Some days are harder than others.
Brain baggage crowding, pressure
Building like an already strained balloon.
On these days, nothing feels right.

Searing pain in my temple,
Incomplete thoughts to accompany
A panic I feel coming on,
"This, too, shall pass," I say, carefully.

World spinning, dark mental
Clouds obscuring the sun,
I feel the melancholy cadence
Beating time marks on my skull.

It's difficult to discern the cause,
Impossible to think about a solution;
Something is off-balance here now,
I feel quite alone.

Is this End of the World, then?
The End of an Age of Reason?
This State of Malaise?
I close my eyes, hopeful...