He seeps into my torso's tender, cramped muscles,
Clawing my strung nerves away from my head.
He stomps in my sore brain, kicks out my feet,
And smothers my daydreams when I am in bed.

I have an ifrit in a small stoppered bottle.
I freed it and wished fiercely, yesterday.
Then I stoppered the bottle up again,
Feeling liters of tension drain fast away.

I possess a little stoppered pewter bottle.
Inside of it I keep Anxiety.
And while I may soon wish to wish again,
I refuse to let Anxiety keep me!