Harry Styles

Anxiety

I️ see the way they stare at me, at my body. The way I️ sway my hips from left to right making them thirsty for more. I️ grab the metal pole sliding my back against it till I️m squatting.

Cold; like me. Shivers; maybe disgust. Goosebumps; possibly grief, sorrow.

It's impossible not to feel too little, it's impossible not to feel anything, and it's impossible not to feel too much. So what do I️ feel?

I️ get down from stage walking unbalanced towards a guy on a chair. I️ do my needs for the cash; for my goods to do late at night.

No hands, no kisses, no touches. I️ repeat it in my head, then to the one under me. "No hands, no kisses, no touches," I️ whisper in his ear, almost like a faint mumble; they nod.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours till I️ could finally get up with a good amount of load around my waist.

I️ walk away going to the next one. "No hands, no kisses, no touches," I️ tell them; they nod. I️ do what I️ did with the last, and I'll do it to the next till I'm satisfied with the hard cash. Till I️ feel pleased by the sickening in my body from the multiple ones under me.

I️ leave, untouched, unkissed. Along with a lost count of the ones outside. I️ go to the back; count my cash. "1, 21, 31, 51, 71, 81, 100" I️ set the first bills down. Grabbing another pile, "5, 10, 20, 30, 35, 50, 100" I️ set the second one down till I'm left with 3 different messy piles full of the same amount as the first.

I️ changed into my normal clothes the one I️ came in with before I️ put out an act; one that didn't define me, the one that distinguishes my body unlike in here. Nude is the many color source.

I️ walk out the back door, and even though I'm fully dressed I️ feel the cold striking me in any way possible.

I walk to my corner, the one that feeds me every night till I feel nothing left within me. Till I know my body, and mind are set free; perhaps a blur.

He approaches me, my guy.

Opens his bag; my goods.

Exchange; goods handed, cash dealt with.

Walk away.

I turn, leave; home.

Home should be cozy, warm and full of love. Not a cold place where you're left to rot; damaged.

I walk in

Pull out a chair

Set my things down

Take the bag out.

I go to my room to grab a red box setting against my counter. I take it downstairs setting it next to my bag.

I open it.

Pull out my pipe; glass, unclear, almost dirty.

People call it a crack pipe; as for me, heaven.

I get a small substance from my bag.

Shiny, white; possibly crystal white.

Pipe on one hand. I locate the top where a hole is noticed. Putting in a pinch of my goods. I part my lips against the opening at the end; cold, dry. With another, a lighter touching the bottom base of the pipe; blue flames. The visualization of it appears as melted ice. I move the blue flames in almost a sphere, letting them glimpse upon the base of the pipe as it cycles. I inhale the smoke seeing the flames being kept in the same position. I keep the inhale going, as the flames do too. Coming to an end with my inhale as a dark color resembles against the glass. And with that, I stop; exhale. Only to repeat.

Done; high.

I leave my mess on the chair; as for I, I get up to go back upstairs; room.

I lay upward facing my ceiling, letting the highness do what its best at.

Hallucinating; euphoria.

Intense pleasure, physical change; mind, thoughts. Perhaps, gain of confidence.

Drugged; gone.

Delusional; unconscious.

Wasted; wrecked.

Conceivably addicting, forever unknown.

I stare at nothing but I feel like I'm staring at everything as if I could see my whole life ahead of me.

Shameful; worthless

I zone out letting words slip out. "They say pain is a prison, let me out of my cell," I mumble with a dried throat.

I felt nothing, but too much to stabilize myself.

Numb was the word to be described; senseless, raw, bitter, paralyzed. Which? Maybe all to create trauma.

3 am with no end; each night on repeat.

Walk right in, pass back out.

Wake up in the morning, the clock says 4.

Stop; reality hits.

Life, life is so serene, tranquil. A place of existence of anything that breathes, moves, and eats. It's reality, not realistic. Life hits you when unnoticed, to prove points. It's not surreal, dreamlike, imaginary. Life occurs in the blink of an eye, in a snap of a finger. Chaos; commotion made to create unforgettable, and unforgiving moments to recall upon throughout your life. It Can be cut short or lived to the fullest, full of regret and sorrow, or bliss and delight. It's simple you either live or die.

The world is a beautiful place, some don't take into consideration of the good; like me. As for others do. The world is full of lies, loathe, detest. But it's also full of care, love, joy. It's a place we're born in without a say of whether you'd want to or not. It's like being snatched, you have no say; only awareness is the sound that makes you flinch of a rag being placed upon your head. Without a clue you're born, without a thought, you're gone.

I turn one way, then the next trying to find a comfortable spot to rest against. I close my eyes.

Black; loneliness.

It hurts, I see nothing rather darkness surrounding me. No faith within me.

I open my eyes and see light, open doors into success.

I close them again. No light, no; darkness occurs once again snatching me back in, grabbing a hold of my ankles, suffocating me till I pass out.

Help.