Anxiety is love's greatest killer.

It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you.

You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

2 am is the hardest
when your mind is racing
your heart is hurting
and
your fingertips are longing
for one more
touch,
grab,
feel,
hold.
so you convince yourself
that your hands are his
and you try to make yourself
feel how he
made you feel
but somehow, you
keep coming up short

lately happiness seems to come and go
like a lover who bores easily
as i don't offer them enough to stay
while the depression always returns
like an abuser, it's fists made of ravage fire
masquerading loyalty and love i know is insincere