A Whisper in the Dark

A Whisper in the Dark

In the quiet of the night,

when shadows stretch and breathe,

a weight settles on my chest,

heavy as a stone,

yet invisible to the world.

Thoughts swirl like autumn leaves,

each one a flicker of dread,

a thousand voices echoing,

each demanding attention,

each a thread pulling taut,

binding me to an unseen fear.

Time stretches and contracts,

moments slipping through my fingers,

like sand in an hourglass,

the future looming large and uncertain,

a fog that blurs the edges of possibility.

Heart racing, a drumbeat of panic,

a symphony of worries crescendoing,

what ifs dance in spirals above me,

taunting with their relentless refrain—

what if I fail? What if I fall?

Breath comes shallow and quick,

as if the air itself is laced with doubt,

each inhale a struggle against the tide,

each exhale a release of what could be.

In crowded rooms, I am alone,

a silent scream trapped behind my smile,

the laughter around me feels distant,

like echoes from another world,

where peace is a familiar friend.

I search for solace in the mundane—

a cup of tea, the warmth of sunlight—

but even these small comforts feel fragile,

like glass on the edge of a table,

ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

Yet in this storm of uncertainty,

I find flickers of resilience—

moments when I breathe deeply enough to feel alive,

when I remember that I am more than my fears.

I am a tapestry of experiences woven together—

threads of joy and sorrow intertwined,

and though anxiety may cast its shadow,

it cannot erase the light within me.

So I take one step forward, shaky but determined,

embracing each moment as it comes—

for even in the grip of anxiety's hold,

I am learning to dance with my fears,

to find strength in vulnerability.

And perhaps one day I will stand tall again,

not free from anxiety's whispers but alongside them—

a testament to survival in the face of uncertainty,

a reminder that even in darkness, there is light.