Anxiety makes me seem peculiar.
Anxiety stops me from being a monster.
Anxiety is the belt that confines my strengths.
Anxiety is the filter that hides my atrocities.
With out my anxiety I would never be and with my anxiety I cannot be

The idiotic ideology of internally inactive

Every possibility presents itself as failure,
Every day merges into the last,
Every word torments the user,
Every moment reflects the past,
Every choice is torture,
While every mistake will be my last,
The fog is my saviour,
But I wish I wasn't sad.

The trail of destruction,
The silence of screams,
All of humanity,
Forgotten to dreams.

The silence of life,
That has become no more,
Haunts only the rocks,
And the broken sea floor.

The storms that once ravished,
Humanity’s home,
Now carry fire,
Melting even their stone.

The ground is all scarred,
Where the meadows once grew,
Just a crack in the surface,
Where rivers once drew.

Night and day,
No longer opposed,
The contrast of weather,
No longer imposed.

The passing of time,
Is no longer consistent,
The bonds of its measure,
No longer resistant.

The world is all quiet,
There is nothing to hear it,
Existence is lost,
While nothing can live it.

So the pain has all gone,
The tears have dried,
Humanity lived wrong,
Now the planet has died

Look up there, really look.
The line of your sight and the path that it took.
Try to understand the truth of life’s vocation.
While you grasp the depths of its bitter isolation.
There is nothing up there, nothing watching.
Just a barren universe, casually mocking.
Existence is a catalog of aligned integration.
Just a system of knowledge and past information.
Your ability to experience in all of its brilliance.
Is merely the outcome of your required existence.
The world we inhabit, manipulate yet trust.
Is a game of mathematics that acts as it must.
For nothing can happen without the passing of time.
This is a terrifying, existential crime.