By Tinamarie Cox

Terror always attacks the heart first. The rhythm changes, gallops like a stallion with hooves pounding against the eardrums. The fast pace supercharges the electricity running through the body, and the high voltage causes the hands to shake. Makes muscles tight. Winds tendons up like springs. The growing pressure in the chest cavity spreads, reaching up and squeezing the delicate throat. Paralyzes the lungs as claws clamp down on the organs. And then, there is nothing left to do in the full-body agony except scream. Scream like a hot kettle until one runs out of steam. Or is silenced by the source of the fear.

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Tinamarie Cox lives in Arizona with her husband, two children, and rescue felines. Her written and visual work has appeared in a number of publications under various genres. She has two chapbooks with Bottlecap Press, Self-Destruction in Small Doses (2023), and, A Collection of Morning Hours (2024). Her debut full-length poetry collection, Through A Sea Laced With Midnight Hues, arrived with Nymeria Press in 2025. You can follow her on Instagram @tinamariethinkstoomuch, and find more of her work at: tinamariethinkstoomuch.weebly.com