Happiness is fickle,
Anxiety is the only true friend;
It’s all there in the head,
Them thoughts rolling around deliberately.
A million of them,
Stumbling, jumping, overlapping,
Never by accident, you realize,
Once you dwell deeper, and you do,
Each one of them has a single purpose:
To make it worse than yesterday.
Each one of them, motivated, focused,
Even in their chaotic mess,
Masterfully pushing you to the edge;
Maybe I’ll end it all today;
Maybe I’ll end it all this way;
Yeah, maybe, but you don’t,
You won’t;
Why would you?
It’s gonna happen eventually anyway.
Might as well ride it out;
Happiness, the only state I ever strove for,
Fickle, fickle happiness;
In all my lows,
Anxiety is the only one that stayed,
And I took it for granted;
Anxiety, the only true friend,
And I took her for granted;
Not anymore, though.
So here I am now, one with her,
All anxious and spent,
Them million thoughts,
Still stumbling, jumping, overlapping,
Pushing me to the edge,
But this time I don’t resist;
What’s going to happen
will happen eventually anyway
Today, I stay with her…
The kind of writing that shows up uninvited, barefoot, at 3 a.m.
