Feed the Muse: Inner Monologues (Vol. I) [√]

[ an ode to anxiety ]

2 AM, you come to me.

You sit at the foot of my bed, looking like a ghost, and perhaps maybe you are. I close my eyes and pretend that you are not there, and most of the time I win but tonight, you seem louder, bigger, more menacing. You reach for me, and I pull up the covers over my head, wishing, thinking, dreaming, longing, for a better version of myself.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen, I fight you off. You laugh harder, scarier, meaner, pinning me down, a hand over my mouth to stifle my screams. My lips they bleed and my eyes they sting and my mind shuts down.

You win again.