anxiety arrives

A catalogue of futility mailed to my doorstep. I let it inside the house. It crowned itself king, sired heirs of anxiety that wear me thin. Eccentricity for color. Vibrancy for ambition. Glass breaks. Wood yields. It soothes me with promises of a golden age— clovered luck, six leaves for all to fawn over. For every maestro of chaos, a violin groans in despondency. Each tempo erases the calm I once kept as shelter, believing in lines, in borders, in the patience of a sage aging backward into clarity. Containment fails. Intensity doesn’t always mean depth.