I have kind of bad anxiety
my life's an intoxicated fantasy
where every single thing I see
I must regard as an enemy

I'm worried what my friends would thing
If they saw how much I drink
these paranoid words written in ink
and throw it up in my kitchen sink
  
  The amount of nights I spend alone
  blasting music from my phone
  trying to drown the consistent drone
  of the voices in a steady tone

   The twisting feeling in the pit of my chest
   A nauseous wave that seems to test
   how much longer I can stay the best
   at hiding my emotions, but I digress.