Ghosts

 Ghosts

Anxiety is like a ghost,

Whose insistent gaze is almost tangible,

But when I turn,

I’m met with empty air,

Soon I’m always looking over my shoulder,

Worrying about the smallest of things

I’m sure that I’m exaggerating the problem,

That there is nothing haunting me,

But if I feel it breathing into my ear,

Hear it remind me of everything I had forgotten,

How can that be nothing?