Days when I hear my anxiety
calling to lend me a hand and I listen.
Days;
Days when my shadow holds on to my feet like an only son
holding on to a prayer for his dying mother.
Days;
Days when the music is distant
and the violin toe tips under the slumbering moon;
Days.
Today,
I watch the colours peel off my skin
and they fall to the ground like shooting stars,
fading away before their funerals.
And I watch my prayers levitate up to the ceiling of my room,
and soon they shatter like sparkles of fireworks on my bed;
Again, my prayers are unheard.
Last night you whispered.
You said I had a beautiful mind which looked like a library,
Perhaps that's why you wouldn't hesitate to take a look
and grab a book,
and read my fears out loud,
until my head becomes occupied with fairytales of my clumsiness.
And then I wrote myself to sleep,
hoping that I'll find comfort in my dreams, but no;
Your claws pierced deep into my wooden cupboard of a chest
and I bled, I bled myself back to face an even more cruel reality.
Days;
Days when being sad is my only option
because happiness is my father's oversized kaftan I will have to grow into,
and I am scared when that time eventually comes,
it'll become nothing but jaded, tattered rags.
But today,
the voices in my head wish for their own deaths.
I hear them clattering on layers of breakable darkness,
stumbling upon one another.
Because this time I refuse to listen to them.
Today,
the rain was careless,
and I watch the sky give home to a broken rainbow.
Today, I watch death slip through the spaces between my fingers.
Today,
I decide I will live.
YOU ARE READING
Anxiety and Things that Shatter
Poetry"Anxiety, you are lightening and a thunder only I can hear. In my despair, you wear an intimidating smile like a glittering stretch mark on the skin of the horizon." Cover by @DeathsDarkSoul
