to get the better of me. I have
these fantasies of what could go
wrong. And I hang onto them
longer than I should and allow them

to interfere with my life, knowing
they’re no good. The worrying turns
noxious as bad company. I can
kick the bad company out –

but my worries have tendrils that
wind around each corner of my
mind. I tug and pull at them. But
they’re as static cling and rise as

high as a mountain. Anxiety is
a dreaded curse. I wish I could cut
the threads and move on with
my life. But instead I clutch like
I’ve got a punch in the gut.