I hate feeling this way.
It eats me alive.

Anxiety is fun.
Loads of fun.

Freaking out over the life lost
that has nearly begun.

Heart pounding to the thought
of my teaching career in the future.

Freaking out about the great friends
I've made, and the man
I just started talking to.

Breaths shortening to the thought
of failing my first year.

I want to live, to achieve,
to not lose another, to succeed.

Why do I have to be so anxious…
about everything?

I'm getting past him
by burning his name
and burning a drawn replica.

The fire was set,
the ashes were settled,
now the memory of him is fading.

I've been ready for awhile,
and lately been walking down this
        aisle.
It's getting darker as I wander
and slowly tip-toe my way through.

I see you in a passing pew,
smiling and waving, offering a
        trusting hand.
Your caring eyes blaze through mine
that hold fear for a red-eyed beast
in the pew behind.

Its eyes glow red with villainy,
putting me in agony.
He stands tall like a werewolf on
        hinds,
breathing heavily and convincing
        minds.

Your hand still extended,
I want to take it.
I know no beast is in you,
but the beast is always there.

I want to go down a different path,
and maybe the one with you is best,
but perhaps I'll find another beast,
who'll eat my heart and leave me rot.

When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.

Home to where the tan sand lays,
beaten by the waves that just want
        to stay.
Home to where we sail
till Lawson becomes a snail,

so small and so unnoticed,
like the little town covered in tourists.
Boston to my right,
and Gloucester in sight.

We tell stories around the flames,
put the passing train in shame.
Looking up at the floating embers
as they become stars to remember.

Lighting up the harbor, rock by rock,
keep the candle going with all your
        luck.
The Luminaria will make you gasp,
the little town is hard to grasp.

So little with so much beauty,
my little town is an opportunity.
Art by hand
and art by land.

When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.

I'll see you once more,
call it quits.

Exhausted with a mind racing.
Need to rise in six hours,
mind still racing.

Thinking back on him,
about all of them.
Wondering about her response,
about whether she'll pounce.

He ruined me,
and now they are too.
My ability to trust is withering.
And if she doesn't respond,
I'm done for.

Dreaming of a trusting world,
analyzing every current and past
        detail,
not leaving out a single thing.
I hope to be happier,
but maybe that's impossible
if all these things and all these
        people
continue to wreck me.