I trained my gaze to turn a blind eye
To the incessant strobing wheedling away
Weeping willow tears, burrowing footsteps
Needling the swell of pure panic
When you said to me "The anxiety's
Bad at the mo", I became heavy with
The suffocation of 'What to do'....for you
My race to the winning post to
Grab the prize. the cure of all cures
The potion that'll dilute the multiplying
Butterflies grabbing onto your
Worry beads, slung around your neck
Should you forget their existence
A never ceasing adornment lines
Your palms with moistured intensity
Slips your grip on life, where once was peace
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
I trained my gaze to turn a blind eye
To the incessant strobing wheedling away
Weeping willow tears, burrowing footsteps
Needling the swell of pure panic
When you said to me "The anxiety's
Bad at the mo", I became heavy with
The suffocation of 'What to do'....for you
My race to the winning post to
Grab the prize. the cure of all cures
The potion that'll dilute the multiplying
Butterflies grabbing onto your
Worry beads, slung around your neck
Should you forget their existence
A never ceasing adornment lines
Your palms with moistured intensity
Slips your grip on life, where once was peace
Request permission to use this poem