Saving the Walls

I have so much anxiety all the time. My mind is like spaghetti being thrown at the walls. There is no questioning the stance of my nonexistent asanity, guilt is the only trembling thing I belong to. Ask me the questions I've been avoiding in full truth, I'm no sinking ship, I'm an avalanche waiting to happen. Fuck my questions and concerns. Your answers won't do anything for me.

The truth is, no one really cared anyway. My pain was my own, the poems I digested, my own, the stories I write, my own. I was nothing if not alone in this digestive cycle of self hatred. I do not know if I'm okay because those that haunt my thoughts do not seem to turn up any longer. Those that matter in the case of self loathing do not come to my recitals. If anything at all, I am an empty vessel. Maybe I will wait my whole life to die. Maybe I will spend my whole life living.