Anxiety

Death is knocking on my door.
Selling corruption for my core.
He charms his way into my soul,
And slowing put poison in my head.
He draws me in with dreams of love and silently he robs my corpse.
He tells everyone,
         "You will feel the same,
           and if not, I'm not to blame,
           for I'm ugly, I'm stupid, and
           now I'm here bloody, and
           wounded."

I'm just calling for attention.
I can't help but be filled with apprehension, maybe I need to skip another meal,
And maybe take another pill
Then maybe I'll be okay,
Anxiety seems to have become my will.

5:33PM 3/16/2017