Showering in Anxiety By Mo Mahon

It’s past midnight,  

Back pressed against cold tile,  

As the shower head burns me red.  

I stare into the mirror,  

A ghost’s gaze locking with mine.  

Misty glass between us,  

But I can’t tell— which one of us is real?  

Clenching the haunting feeling back,  

Choking on my own breath,  

Fighting off a heart attack.  

Tears press into my rosy cheeks,  

Making me feel so tired,  

The wetness mixing with the steam,  

The sickening taste on my tongue.  

Even the smallest release makes me numb.  

Lights streak, thoughts twist,  

And breathing becomes harder to control.  

I feel the obsession trying to break in,  

Lurking in the shadows,  

Waiting for me to call her in.  

It all feels too fictitious—  

Derealization wrapping its fingers around me,  

Like I’m performing inside this flesh,  

While trying to ignore a waking nightmare.  

I wish her the best,  

With her dark hair.  

She stalks me,  

But my neglect doesn’t cause her stress.  

I see pale blue in her nothingness,  

A daze lost in empty whispers.  

She feels all that dies inside me,  

All that I desperately try to make grow.  

She forces death upon me,  

No matter how much I want to resist,  

No matter how much I try to forget.  

Stillness shakes every nerve,  

As gravel fills my throat in the gasp for air.  

A stone-cold embrace, mildew spreading in my mind—  

It’s all I can smell, all I can feel.  

Her touch is a graze,  

A lack of eyes,  

Sending waves and shivers down,  

Into the depths of hell,  

Trickling through my mind.  

I feel so blind.