Anxiety

It’s a continuous crescendo, climbing high above and beyond every time. Almost like a shadow, always following behind even during the brightest hours of the day, like an abysmal echo which is always subtly present. Its always there, always, hiding in the back of my mind, camouflaged by a plastic bouquet of fragile happy thoughts, but as soon as the bustling calms, it finds the gap, it escapes and conquers, it burns down my confidence, my existence, my whole being. And as I lay there in the arms of devastation, all too well aware of what just happened, emotion filled purposeless tears make their way out, my being stops, it stops feeling, it stops, the pain doesn’t.

 The beating in my chest wants to tear away my soul from my own self, hide it away somewhere safe from my thoughts. The beating goes on, it should, that is the law of life. But its like a wait, a ticking bomb, just waiting to go off, the beating increasing, the rhythm shakes my being to the core. Floating away on thoughts, drowning in fear, the fear that consumes everything in its path. The fear that knows no end to its gluttony, that is the fear I tried running from, running, chasing a dream, a peace I would never reach if I ran. Running aimlessly, even instinct had turned numb to the pain, the pain that will follow me to evermore even if I ran. I ran, trampling down my dignity, my aspirations, my sense of being, I ran, breathlessly and aimlessly only to breathe just one more time. But darkness so deep and eternal, so powerful yet ethereal, so deadly yet still beautiful stops not until it has devoured all of a person's being, eating at their core until darkness is all that is left. Eternal endless infinite darkness, boundless and free, it knows no rationality or emotion. 

Life has boiled down to playing a scratched broken record by the window sill, replaying yesterday every tomorrow, where the future is the rewritten past, and the present is absent in itself. Its like a musical quartet, practicing the same piece over and over and over again, every note tuned to perfection, perfection so cruel and brash that it makes the applauding crowd bleed. Life's full of all different, little dark trinkets, collected in variety, coated and sugar glazed fantasy, like a basket full of Halloween candy. Loneliness, like a plague, spreads through one's being all unnoticed like poison vine, until it has grown and consumed the soul itself.