Anxiety is a cancer of the mind
One which manifests in kind
That begins as a seed within your head
A thistle **** while in your bed

Vines of doubt with acrid musk
Constricting around your hollowed husk
As it eats away from within
No longer knowing how long it's been

Like fungus that grows in the bleak
Fed by dank and dark lit rooms
Sapping victims till they're weak
Thorns that bind in anxious blooms

But as any learned gardener knows
Who has walked through fields of life
He who lets weeds overgrow
Shall surely be with strife

So prune and shape those chilling leaves
And let your garden breath again
But accept that life shall always have its weeds

But you're a gardener now, not who you were back then.