I used to be happy
I'm not anymore, I think sad things
I am not depressed, though I feel like it
My anxiety reminds me of that
My anxiety is my friend with benefits that I never wanted
My anxiety fucks me and cums inside me but doesn't allow me to tell anyone
My anxiety tells me that without him I have nothing;
that he is better than nothing but alas,
I am nothing
I have no value, no worth, no meaning
My anxiety saw me start to lose my once gleaming smile and tried to talk to me
He tried to fix me, but I am too accident-prone,
So he told me to become invisible
If I am invisible, it hurts less than when people see me and forge
My anxiety calls me every night though he is abusive
My anxiety produced this bubble around me with acoustics so I could hear his taunts louder than the worlds'
Criticism and harassment settle better when my anxiety tells me
It hurts less hearing my anxiety tell me I am scum and a bitch than when my angelic grandmother says it
My anxiety is all I have to speak to
My anxiety is honest
My anxiety is mine and I am trapped because my anxiety won't let me leave the house.
YOU ARE READING
Ineffable
PuisiA book of poetry by an amateur who is trying to get back into writing novels like I used to. This story will never be completed because this holds the words I needed to get out and will always be my poetic diary. Ignore my annotations, I want this t...
