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Anxiety The Monster
Anxiety consumes.
IT eats
And IT eats
devouring,
until the only substance left is drool.
A drool so cold and numb,
one could say IT hurts.
IT dribbles down the brain
looking at memories,
looking at moments,
ripping them and moving to the next.
IT leaves IT'S exhausting trail while going back to IT'S hiding place.
In the back of the mind IT sits, getting hungry. The anguish is almost addicting.
One more thought circles back and once again anxiety pounces,
always hungry,
always empty,
never satisfied.
Copyright ©
Dixie Turner
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