Anxiety’s hands, consistently caressing your heart.

Everlastingly petting that sweating, flickering light

And every so often-

(you can tell seconds before it begins)

It begins.

Her fingers twist around and up your throat, making their way, sliding against your eyes

Jutting out through tear ducts.

Her pretty nails painted with your silly insides.

Her other hand gently pushing down on your lungs

If you struggle, she smiles, she presses harder.

It is finished.

She collects herself to rest,

Yet again,

With your heart in her hands.


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