Poetic Flair

Barely living

I feel half alive on the days I can't write
but I know from the start, time wasn't kind,
it's ticking so fast along with my heart
and anxiety is what I get as reward
my soul desperately pleading me,
to feed it with words but I couldn't guarantee
my mind can't seem to be organize
there's lot of things I should prioritize
I can't stay on my inexistent bubble
I have to face the monstrous real world
and forget for awhile the comfort of my art
but not for too long or else, I'll fall apart