The vines, the vines,

I see them everywhere,

Wrapped around my throat,

Tight around my hair,

In the chaos of chaos, I feel

It most,

Beyond outside where it runs

Like roads,

Rickety streams of green and

Leaves,

Held so steadfast against the

Strong breeze,

The wind so unrelenting, I

Take a breath,

For that, and the vines still

Coiled ‘round my neck,

Within the outer layer, lie

Channels of poison,

Rivers of death, that, for me,

Have woven,

Threaded together so taut,

No escape from the fine knot,

The knot in my chest so

Unyielding,

Putting aside reality, replaced

With the struggle of breathing,

This is anxiety, everyone,

If you haven’t experienced

It before, then don’t poke fun.