Having Anxiety is Like Trusting Aesthetic Theory


“Botched introspection”

I am smelling bar roses
And tasting cynicism
With each sip of dirty water.

During odd hours
My tongue used to taste vision among the stars,
contemplating the dullness of forever.

When (she) paragon arrived,
I slept for 8 hours a day
And woke up at 9pm.

I kept the lids off cups of coffee,
Allowed winter breath to execute fever.
Enjoyed the calmness of cold.

I spoke to God while standing on modest bridges,
Diluting logic by trusting the hum of a steady creek,
To be the voice of scripture!

The world seemed simulated!
So I existed amid fantasy,
Believing God to be real,
Here. Paying attention to me.
Because I am alone
Atop a bridge
Asking for proof.

Since (she) paragon arrived,
I still sleep for 8 hours a day,
But now I dream at night.

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