The Worrier

Her cold still body
Gave no clue as to
The intensity of the
Pressure which so
Violently halted her
Heart, as it burst
Like a pressure cooker
Blowing its valve
Releasing pressure
And with it draining
Away strength until
No pressure meant
No life, dead. Done.
The irony now lost
On the worrier was
That it was the fear
Of her worst fear
That gradually, steadily,
Built up until her
Body gave up being
Constantly on red alert,
And switched off
Realising that a
Mind of fear has
More power than
A body bent on
Playing the part
Of the worrier.
Everyone could see
It coming, even the
worrier, though she
Was unable to change
A defining pattern
Of her life, where
To worry was to
Be alive – to have
Purpose and something
To occupy the otherwise
Banal existence of
Being ‘refined’ like
An emperor with no
Clothes, always chasing,
Never secure, worrying
To feel safe with insecurity.
The eternal weight loss
Diet of brie mixed with
Cholesterol reducing,
Money wasting drinks,
Seasoned with enough
Salt to turn her liver
Into cured pate, and
Pureed into slurry.
Highlighting the blatant
Inconsistency and lack
Of control, as what she
Ate was eating her,
One blocked artery
At a time, until the day
When the perfect storm
Of fat, pressure and
Worry, finally combined
Like a chemical bomb –
Exploding both the
Myths of denial, and
The flesh which tried
To tell her it was all
A ticking time-bomb.
So she got the last thing
She wanted as the
Last thing to happen
In her life, a fitting finale
To the perpetual
Pessimism and fear,
Obsessed with the most
Unimportant things
From her waking hours
Into the long hours
Of the sleepless nights
Lost to worry, and the
Worry of worrying too
Much to sleep!
Rest in peace worrier –
There’s no point
Worrying now, just
Be still in your death
And let the pressure
Be stopped for us too.