I worry that the weight of my thoughts will crush my mind and wonder how it hasn't already.

I worry that my juvenility has gotten the best of me and I won't be able to grow out of my mistakes.

I worry home isn't where the heart is for I have shattered my own and I never really feel at ease with myself.

I worry I ran too far and for too long but for all the wrong reasons.

I worry a lot of bit and that too constantly.

I worry I don't have a purpose, nor an excuse to occupy the space that I do.

I worry that my heart doesn't feel the right feelings, my mind doesn't think the right thoughts.

I worry about the inevitable - the heartbreaks, the wreckage and the end.

I worry I will dilapidate long, long before I decompose and that I will never have contributed to anything.

I worry I'm letting fear guide me, allowing my trembling hands and palpitating heart to constrain me.

I worry I might be worrying too much about things that don't (and shouldn't) matter.

I worry that I'm bereaving myself of my life - gnawing at it one breath at a time.

And I worry that my worries aren't frets or half-truths- my worries are the windows of my unsaid reality.