Anxiety

I would politely ask you to stop talking

and the red would show through

but i’d force it down

to a meek whisper

my fingers twitch

itch and fiddle

my watch is too tight

there’s things crawling up my back

I’m itchy

talking becomes yelling

my vision is a dark tunnel

i hear ringing

clanging and banging

white noise becomes static

on the walls

on the ceiling

 

I am falling without a vine to catch.

 

- anxiety

 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741