at this point, i have surrendered my ground. my once firm foundation has disintegrated and found new soil. the new roots inside of me sprouted rather quickly and are now embedded so deep in me.
i have become anxiety's *****.
anxiety owns me. it has locked on my new collar with a tag labeled with my new identity. this collar chokes me of my words;no longer capable of speaking for myself, as for my owner, anxiety, grips my leash and controls my path. no freedom to be endeavored. to sniff something new, to attempt to expose myself to new territory, my owner yanks me back prohibiting me to any assortment of semi positive exposure. i am only allowed to **** and **** on this earth, followed by my owner picking up my mess. anxiety never forgets to remind me of the **** he picks up after me. a guilty moment is never just a passing breeze, its a constant wind directly in my face.
i am anxiety's ***** and he loves taking me on walks; it is my leisure time. some longer than others. but every walk has to come to an end, but i know that it is never the end. anxiety takes care of me, believe it or not. he picks up my ****, then feeds me so i am capable of taking another one sooner or later. its a routine. a sick, mind numbing game.

write for the demands
in my mind.
they dance on the pages
as my pen meets paper.
they replenish from my tears that drip from my face
& onto the paper.
the deterioration
of my penmanship
fuels their anguish.
their music gets louder
i can feel it
as my head pulses
to the beat of their war drum
my writing is synchronized
to their tune
which causes my body to
ache and shiver
they create on my brain
that has left scars
my demands are relentless
their music still roaring.
i take a final breath
before i close my notebook
and by the click of my pen
silence is redeemed
and their music has
dissolved.