Anxiety

Your imaginary enemies aren’t the boss of me

Tell me the story of our demise
and I’ll paint you a picture
of my sleepless nights

And you’ll tell me it’s all lies
‘cause you’re the one that dies
at the start of each day
when she wakes up
and screams you into existence

Reality takes a back seat
to every spectacle
to every story
to every cigarette
and chocolate glazed donut

Until the dreams turn to memories
that never happened
and you hold a gun to my head
with the promise that you’ll shoot it
though you’ve yet to load it

© Indie Adams 2016