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I Am My Anxiety
August 28, 2023
Not a state of mind, not a disease
My anxiety is me.
Quiver shall my fingers until decked with death
Heat drape my cheeks until stone cold I shall be.
My thoughts scream till my voice collapses
Into a tremor so lukewarm
That devoid of the shaking of my leg
They shall find me dead ad the dead of morn.
My anxiety was born not with trauma but love
That ache to cause smiles. Raise heads high
I shall die when my anxiety does, not unless
For my anxiety, is I.
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This article has 1 comment.
aaravpandey said...
on Aug. 29 2023 at 9:47 pm
Absolutely amazing! Keep em' coming.
In the morning, a nerd; In the afternoon, a musician. In the evening, I scrawl messy poems, but at night, I forget myself. This piece is no less than me, for a surface level reading of the same is truly not enough to see the amount of pain I had written this in. Safe to say, my anxiety, it is I :)