Anxiety

 

                                                   Anxiety 

Anxiety is the beast that watches me from the shadows, its burning eyes fixed upon my soul.
I feel its cold breath at my neck — a worry spreading like poisonous mist, a fear that rumbles like thunder inside my chest.
Reality twists like shattered mirrors in a labyrinth with no exit.

But no — I refuse to be deceived.
It is illusion.
I must keep moving, even if my footsteps echo through the abyss.
I will not surrender to the shadows that hunt me without rest.

Sweat falls like corrosive rain, tremors coil around my ankles like thorny vines, trying to root me in the ground of despair.
But I am a warrior — breathless, yes, but standing.
My heart pounds like a war drum.

No. No. It is illusion.
I keep walking.
I do not yield to chaos; I do not accept the absence of light.
The darkness will not claim my name.

I feel danger like an invisible blade near my throat — an oppressive presence that wants me on my knees.
But I do not bow.

My hands slip, yet they cling to the jagged rocks of the mountainside.
I climb, even when the wind wounds me, even when the sky offers no sign.
I need light — not any light, but the one that warms, the one that heals.
I need to breathe, to escape this dark void that wants to consume me.

I must take the helm, tame the creature that roars within.
You are illusion, nothing more.
And I will fight with every breath so you never become the ruler of me.

Anxiety, anguish, restlessness — I am the commander of my soul.
You are only a shadow that dissolves at dawn.
And when the angelic light breaks across the horizon, I will breathe deeply, in peace, and know:

I survived another night.