The doctor told me
One time
“You’re suffering from anxiety
One of the worst kinds in the world…
You need to stop thinking too much.”
He stopped and stared at my fingers
“It certainly won’t help
You using those cigarettes as a crutch.”
Anxiety has too many faces to count
Trust me, I’ve tried…
It’s a frightening amount
When all you want to do
Is get on with your day
Reach your potential
Meet a friend
Your happiness will all depend
On that ever-spiraling trend
Of madness maybe
One half of your head fights
Tooth and nail
The other
Leaves you feeling all the time stale
He’s been working on me
Four months now
Medication is rotten
Up at seven in the morning
Stuck ruminating with
That mad cow
Am I contrary
Well… Mary?
I’m a wreck
I attend all of the classes
Check your name in
Sit with the masses
Of people so far gone
It hurts me to see
“It’s all in your head.”
He informs me
I’m confused
What’s that supposed to do
Fill me with some sort of glee
Sat with a bipolar patient
She asked for a smoke
It was tough
Us unveiling our deep and dark
Eventually though we got to share
A joke
It’s the small things that matter
That’s what he thinks
Christ almighty
Now he’s my own personal shrink