The early afternoon sun shines upon me
as I take in my surroundings.
Birds chirp and gentle breeze
ruffles the leaves high above me.
Young lovers and elderly couples
sit and stroll and laugh and chatter
like the squirrels that dart briskly amongst bushes.
The sky is hazy,
as light, thin clouds begin to creep
high up, settling overhead like smoke.
Amongst this peaceful park,
I tremble.
Although my environment is calm, I still feel
an anxious tremor in my demeanour.
Hands shaking as I turn the page
of a book I have barely been able to take in.
My eyes scan over the lines of words
almost mechanically,
but don't read them.
Anxiety holds me in its clutches even on the most peaceful of days.
Like an overprotective mother
shielding me from the world,
holding me in a panicked embrace
like its just seen me escape from a fire.
Anxiety helps me see fires that others can't.
Or fires that don't exist.
Anxiety extinguishes fires and
drowns me in the process
for I cannot burn in a flood.
I put down my book,
one hand fumbling for a lighter
as the other pulls out a cigarette.
I ignite, and smoke fills my lungs
and I imagine exhaling the negativity inside me.
Of course it doesn't work that way
and I exhale only smoke.