view from one’s window when anxiety is high

My feet will sometimes itch for grass

Beneath my toes as nose is pressed

Against the window pane.

My heart can leap as spaniels cross

The great green plane that stretches out,

Teasing like a naked body,

I want to touch but also scared

That shuffling out in slippered feet

Will bring about a blur of terror.

Better to just rot in prison

Shackled to my crimson couch

Where safety reigns but boredom claws

At tightened nerves I fear may snap.

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