Anxiety

My brain keeps screaming
"It hurts, IT HURTS!"
But I don't know where.
There is no wound to examine.
It is everywhere,
Yet not exactly physical.

My fists clench,
My insides twist and churn.
The tension in my muscles
Goes on and on....
Is the impending cataclism
An implosion or explosion?
Does it matter?
I come apart either way.

I am weary to my bones,
To my very soul.
And that is the worst
Of this thing.
The injuries it inflicts
Do not make you bleed
Your life's blood,
But rather the essence
Of who you are.