Anxiety is a schizophrenic
Pacing back and forth like a python slithering through it’s house of pain
Wearing the tattered robes of comfort and guilt
Once a solid cerulean now sunbleached and stained with the dried blood of hope
Waiting for the never changing clock to turn
It melts and contorts to the essence of truely being alone
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askingally reblogged this from parasiteforthemind
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