"Danger, Will Robinson, danger,"
I hear in my head,
something from the TV sci-fi show
I used to watch as a kid,
only now in this case,
the danger doesn't come from without
(even when I think she's to blame)
but from inside my head where I am
utterly unprotected and can't escape
what I know is inevitable,
some deeper part of my psyche
pushing me into a fray
I can't possibly win
and might not survive,
like being on one of those
manic amusement park rises,
clutching the handle bar
for dear life
when I have no other
means of control
completely lost
in the space inside me,
over reacting to who she is
and what she says
and what I wish to do.
"Danger, Will Robinson,"
the robot inside me says,
yet, naturally,
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