the ugly writers

Anxiety Behind the Curtain

She is a thief. She is chaos.
An ice-flooded, frozen-hearted, unapologetic criminal.
SHe never gets caught; ever the elusive invader.
She hides in plain sight.

Attacks from within
She steals, kills and corrupts –
All while you watch, without ever having laid eyes upon her.
She slithers, snarls and crawls –
right thru your veins and down you porous bones…
intertwining herself around every single solitary live nerve.
Carefully mimicking normalcy.

She is in your head.
She rests her conniving hands upon your thoughts.
Tidies them up.
Edits, crops, and twists them…
Anxiously she unravels her masterpiece,
her horried sheet music,
allowing it to cascade and tunnel thru your ears
one note at a time.

She excavates from deep under the carefully buried tissues
into all the little nooks and crannies, every corner.
She gathers up her newly acquired spoils
and begins to knit them together in a most calculating,
self-indulgent way.
Brimming with elation and pride,
She admires her work.
She then methodically stitches the seams
and fastens each corner to the unsuspecting eyes.
Taking care to ensure that no visual detail
will be lost to the imagination.

Each delectable scene unfolding within an inescapable view.
She eagerly freezes you into submission,
engulfing your entirety, allowing the immobility to reign.
Alas, she is ready for the show.

The stage is set.

The curtains slowly crawl open as one teardrop falls to the stage.

She gradually¬†opens her eyes and prepares to savor every…

last…

moment…

The lights flicker and begin to fade…

She is a thief.

She is chaos.

She is anxiety.