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Sep 2018
Lately, I’ve been waking up every morning at 8am like clockwork, with tears in my eyes and on my cheeks, clawing their way out of my face like they’re running from something,
And a sense of panic that I can only describe as seeing an animal in your car’s headlights but not being able to slow down quick enough

Do you understand, how ******* disgusting it is to not feel like you’re able to write anything until everything feels like it’s on fire, and your only way of putting it out is to cough up a bunch of metaphors and hope they’re wet enough

Sometimes when I get really anxious I like to take road trips,
And when I’m driving,
I like to close my eyes,
Just so I can remember what it’s like to not possibly have any control of anything

Sometimes when I get really anxious, I try to recite the alphabet backwards,
Just so I can remember what it’s like to be able to forget something

Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been taking the wrong medicine at the wrong times and the right medicine doesn’t have a right time,
Only feel alive in the night time, take deep breaths,
We are alone in this,
You and I are alone in this,
We are in some way,
Together in this

When I think about anxiety, I like to think about it like it’s a bee,
and I wish that it would die after it stung me,
But I know it won’t,
I know it will keep on,
I know that it will drip it’s honey into the eyes of all of my closest friends and family,
And sometimes it will become too thick to see through,
And they will learn to live with it,
And I will learn to live with it

Sometimes, when I get really anxious, I am the sunset,
I envy moon, I would give anything to be able to see the way the trees move at night,
Silent, but fast, I was always told there was some kind of magic to be talked about when it came to the dark

Yes, I’m not lying when I tell you I’m riding high,
I’m feeling it all at once, everything around me, from everyone’s faces, to their footsteps, it is all running a marathon through my veins, the finish line nowhere to be found, I feel them all, all of them, their angry and driven footsteps, using the soil of my blood to plant their gardens inside of me that will one day without fail turn rotten, and die,
and my body will feel the decay of drought when my blood runs dry, when the sunlight is no longer strong enough to break through my thick skin,
I feel like the sunlight

Yes, I’m not lying when I tell you I’m riding high,
Cold, and shaking, itching for the comfort of normality inside of this hellscape, a national landmark of uneasiness and lack of empathy for the fingers on my hands and toes on my feet,
It takes a real kind of high to be able to feel when every single hair on your head moves in the wind and every single hair on the back of your neck raises, as if it’s trying to stand guard against something it knows will **** it

I find myself here, locked and loaded in this hazy battlefield, yet when I fire my guns, the only thing that comes out is dirt, and not enough of it either

I am riding high in the midst of 6 sleepless nights,
firing lucid canons into my bedroom walls in hopes that if nothing else, my delusions will break me a way out of here

That’s what this is all about anyways, right?
Richie Vincent
Written by
Richie Vincent  21/M/Dayton, OH
(21/M/Dayton, OH)   
225
 
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