anxiety is a flood
it comes in slowly
but suddenly drowning  me

it is a constant tapping pencil
beating in an irregular beat
frantically accelerating in speed

it is a small room
filled with boisterous people
gradually engulfing me

anxiety is a breath of fresh air
refreshing  as I take a breath in
satisfaction as I exhale

Have we yet captured the schemes of our misfortune
A solace granted to us, picketed by our tedious hangups
Oh lost have we been
Wondering the labyrinths halls

Each time we find our steps take us no further
Our stagger is broken
By a light projecting life outside the hallways walls
While envy flaunts it's final solutions
In loo of a future we are attempting to grasp
Our steps move us further once again

Now, just as forgotten times before
Do I see that the peaces of our scheme
Are collected gradually over time
and my mind is the cage for their housing

The fragments are fluid and known
To our past selves on a distant day
But now I live life again from a stance of their recall
While at the same time tempted
To step back to the labyrinths halls

The first time I fell in love
was with a boy who made me feel like galaxies
when I was barely a star
but it burned out and wasted away
and I was left to slowly decay

The second time I fell in love
was with a boy who gave me comfort
when I was still a broken bone
he gave me safety and sweet lullabies
but failed to see the fire burning in my eyes

I wondered for ages what I did wrong
to make these two boys forget I was strong
and I wondered why I just didn't belong

Until I found this new boy
who I fell in love with, too
a boy who shows me everything
from a different point of view
that love can be more than just
comfort, ego, and lust

He makes me certain
that galaxies aren't the best it gets
when the universe is at my finger tips
He gives me hope that there's more
than just what meets the eye
there's more than just a starry sky

I know this boy is my whole world
because I see oceans in his tired eyes
and diamonds in his crooked smile
roses grow inside of his heart
that spread like a wildfire to my veins
I no longer feel like a mistaken mess
all because of you.

My hands hunger,
Tired of holding themselves.
Of aching emptiness,
that permeates the metacarpals, the cuticles, and
especially the palms, where lines lie in wait
for another artist to trace them.