Anxiety is so debilitating you can’t write. It is not worth the fight. No end in sight. Fight or flight. Stay or go? Anxiety is your parent hanging up on you. No place to call home. Alone. Thoughts of destruction. Knots in your throat. Never knowing what will happen. Twisted and turning stomach. Anxiety is crying until there is no more left. Anxiety is fiery dark. Anxiety and depression lead to opiate glamorization. Pain relief. Breathe. Those who wronged that innocent and sweet 6 year old you once were. Those who ignored you when you were screaming at the top of your small little lungs. The days you felt you needed to be hung. Anxiety is rejection. Recollection. Nostalgia. Anxiety is breaking up. Anxiety is Xanax. A chill pill. Makes you certainly ill. Anxiety is never feeling well. Anxiety is hidden. Depression is obvious; the days where you can’t budge from bed. It’s all in your head. Anxiety is red. A color so fearless. Instead, boom, bang, lead. Anxiety is this poem. Washed away, into a new day. Anxiety is a place I call home. As I have no place to roam. Anxiety is deep within. Killing the heart slowly. Red, pounding, fearless; ready to fight or flight. Anxiety is taking you to all new heights.