I carry a demon on my back named Anxiety. He whispers whenever I feel serenity and shouts when hell breaks loose in my world. He gnaws on my flesh and devours my bones; his viscous fangs are my gloomiest thoughts. I stare at the four walls in my room to forget my injuries, but I am still bleeding.

And even if an entire crowd were to witness me and worship me, they wouldn't catch a glimpse of him as he bends and breaks my will to his twisted ways. No one will be my shield; no one will be my spear. I shiver and shudder but it never meets their eyes.

I am battered, broken, and breathless, as his army marches down the ruins of my haven. I hide it all underneath a composed demeanor, but it's just a farce on the verge of falling.

Sleep is my only escape, but even then he lingers in the darkest corners of my neurons. I am smothered by his hands, till my day and face turn blue, and I try to cry out but it's just me and the same four walls.