You’re functioning, or you’re not.
You’re functional—until you’re not.
You’ll find the energy again,
anxiety ripping you from your pillow.

It keeps you on your feet.
It puts the gun to your head
but never pulls the trigger.

It chases you through your daily tasks,
stalking you like a clock.
Hurry along the y-axis,
striving for infinite exponential growth.

But it’s not possible.
But you’re a walking miracle.
But you beg for deathlike sleep
and beg for sleep like death.