Paralyzed by anxiety, unsure why.
That’s usually how it goes.
(Barbed chains tighten around your chest
without reason or rhyme.)
Anxiety is the mosquito of emotions.
Perhaps it served some ancient purpose,
but it is otherwise an altogether
counterproductive force in the landscape
of present-day humanity.
I’d much rather be sad.
Sure, it’s heavy and isolating,
slows time, lasts longer,
and leaves scars,
but where anxiety lies,
sadness is honest.
To the enemy of my enemy,
please roll in on your cool, misty cloud,
rust away those chains,
draw some tears, and
remind me why I’m here.