High On Anxiety

Who goes there?
Was it you?
I seem to see everything.
The way she plays with her hair,
The way he bounces in his chair,
The way I make people stare.

Stop looking!
Stop staring.
What’s there to see?
Apart from a small withdrawn figure,
That seems to look a lot like me.

My face looks sullen,
With two black eyes,
A repetitive trait,
Passed down by generations of love and hate.

It’s funny how I judge others staring at me,
When I know I stare longer at thee.
This is the way my brain works,
When I’m high on Anxiety.

It’s a class A,
Used and abused by all in our society.
It’s the only deal money can’t buy,
One soul in exchange for this god damn high.