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I feel like I'm always crouched at the starting line.
Waiting for that gun shot, so I can take off
I have to run for my life.
It never comes, so I wait.

On edge.
Restless.
Knowing I can never relax because it could happen any time and I'd better be ready.

An eternity of anxiety.
Or is it just the trepidation of life that has me twisted inside?
Why does it always feel like I'm on borrowed time?

My life, my happiness, it all feels so fragile.
I am afraid to live.
To let my loved ones live.
I'm so terrified of how much I have to lose that I'm afraid to play the game.

Don't leave my home.
Why would I?
There are monsters out there.
Are they any scarier than this monster inside of me?

Sucking my life away slowly.
Torturously.
How do I go to battle against something intangible?

I'm sick of the butterflies.
These are not the beautiful ones.
They are dark and scary and always there just waiting to slice my insides to ribbons with the incessant beating of their wings.

I try to hide from you behind my veneer of cheer and positivity - this is where I want to live for always.
I try to- why do you want to evict me?
Why won't you just leave me alone?

Stop chewing at my nerves and my gut.
When is my sentence up?
You're exhausting me.
I have no more energy to spend, save for just existing.

I chide myself for being lazy.
For being a hermit.
Is that what I am?
Or am I just so consumed by you that I am tired of trying to stay busy to avoid you after all these years.

I have always run from you... feeling like I need a change..
Rearrange the furniture, dye my hair, get a piercing, get a pet...
Always something different hoping it will make a permanent difference in how I feel.
Changes to try to shake you... maybe you won't recognize me anymore and move on.

No one seems willing to help me battle you.
Too afraid to give me the medication that could quiet you, afraid I will get addicted.
Don't they see how much more damaging you are?

I try to smoke you out sometimes.
Every choke and burn is like a hand around your throat, taking over the battle for me so I can rest.
I can breathe again until the smoke shroud's cleared and you're back at me.


Eat at someone else's insides.
More nourishing.
There's nothing left here at this buffet.

This attack is fruitless, I'm fruitless.
You've already consumed all the best parts, you have nothing left to feed on but my tears and my fears.
Go away, and take them with you.

A doggy bag for the beast.
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