The bomb

Living with anxiety is like living with a gun to your head and a bomb strapped to your chest.
You can’t eat. You can’t breath. And you’re so tired but this bomb won’t let you rest.
The thing about this bomb it doesn't want you to know
Is that it will never go off, it just wants you to think so.
You always hear the quiet tic toc of the bomb counting down,
you feel like you're in a sea of your own demons and you're going to drown.
You see a glimmer of hope and reach for the light,
But your demons aren't going to go down without a gruesome fight.
They tackle you, and as you try to catch your breath
They whisper words of self-hatred and death.
They pull you down, back into the black.
You can't take it anymore you just want to go back.
Back to the days when it wasn't this hard,
back to when you didn't have to put up your guard,
back to when life wasn't so tiresome,
back to when you could feel something more than just numb.
You want to live in a world that isn't terrifying and dark.
So you make a choice to fight and you start a spark
At first the spark is too small to realize,
Then it branches out and determination fills your eyes.
You push away your demons for they have been damned,
You rip the bomb from your chest and hold it in your hand.
This bomb has taken over control,
So many people have told you to just "let it go,"
But you've fought so hard to get to where you are.
No one will understand how you've come so far.
You drop the bomb and you have been set free.
You are now in control of your own destiny.
But you have gotten used to the way of living,
And now you must start back at the beginning.
Some people have overcome and made themselves a success.
Will that be you or will you return to the darkness?

This poem is about: 
Our world


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