Poem: High On Anxiety

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 Apart from a small withdrawn figure, That seems to look a lot like me.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.