An Old Battle With Anxiety

Thud, thud, thud.

There is a sound behind me, chasing me as the tips of branches scrape my cheeks, like a ballpoint pen carved into a dagger, scratching streaks of dirt and red wine into my skin that smell fresher than the happiness scrawled on my lips. And there is a breeze in the forest that places furrowed brows on my friendly façade and meets my eyes with dry tears and ever pounding footsteps. The soil is sinking beneath my feet, pulling me down like bubbles in a Jacuzzi that whisper, come here, you have never felt this at peace before. Sink down and let your screams be lost in the pulsing of the jets. Hot, burning silence. My ankles are sinking into the soil and the footsteps are here. I fall to my knees and the thuds are on top of me, drilling my cheek into the ground, the pounding is in me.

It is my heartbeat in the soft of my bed.

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