Scared? Yes, of course.
You don’t come face to face
with your mortal
enemy
and not feel fear,
the tightness in the
throat,
the extra beat of
heart
the closer she gets,
mouth so dry
even my teeth hurt,
not grinding,
not that kind of scared,
just a lost kind of
scared,
what to say, if
anything,
where to look
anywhere but where
she is,
each stare from her
stabbing,
drawing no blood,
just pain
a year not enough
time
to heal my
self-inflicted wounds
or more so, the ones I caused,
my fingers clutching my camera
until my knuckles turn white,
as I wait out for something
I expected to happened,
but doesn’t, won’t
, as she floats here and there,
like a bumble bee,
stinger for me just
to look at,
to be seen,
as I wait out the time for it all to begin,
then end,
so I an crawl home,
bleeding,
just not bleeding,
scared,
but I know not what of.
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