Sleeping With My Anxiety For 365 Days
On some days, I sleep with it, poured into the marrow of my bones. It’s no longer tricked into sleeping under my bed, it keeps climbing, till it’s one with the voices in my head.
On some days, I sleep with it, poured into the marrow of my bones. It’s no longer tricked into sleeping under my bed, it keeps climbing, till it’s one with the voices in my head.
You’re alive. You’re loved. You’re here.
Look at us, my dear,
we’re about to change the world,
the tables are turning,
you’re time’s up, boy.
You’re a work of art, methodically accumulating different tastes, smells and sounds.
i want to go back home