Anxiety

She rips me to shreds when I can’t escape my bed,

holds my hands and shouts “Get up!”

Because I can’t miss “this”…

 

And “this?”

 

Something I will never know

when she drops her grip on my hands,

attaching instead to my lungs and heart.

My ribcage feels like it could burst if I even think of

opening my mouth.

 

So I stay silent and hope that the bell

inside my head doesn’t ring,

because I can’t stomach another blackout

crawling on the floor trying to rip out of my skin

desperately grasping her hands

so that I’m back in her arms again and she

can continue to rip into my already bleeding wounds.

 

 

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