The bad breath of half-baked anxiety
fills the basement of my brain.
Anxiety invites Fear and Worry to eat
week-old raw cod and play a game of midnight terrors.
She says the basement is too small to spread her germs.
She wants to move upstairs.
I don’t believe her.
Something smells fishy.
When she’s passed out from the stench of her self-importance,
I’ll toss her mildewy cadaver out the door.
published in Catharsis Chronicles:
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