Fear
It rises slowly, catching in my throat
The bile, thick, putrid, unable to swallow
A stench, repulsive, permeates my senses
Cold, clammy fingers trickle down my back
Helpless, shaken, frozen in place
My eyes closed, or are they
I can't see. Don't want to see, afraid
Something evil has invaded my space
And I do not want to give it shape or form
I already know its name.
In my imagination I sink, cower
Seeking refuge in the shadows
Mind racing, shutting out rational thought
Seeking instead avenues of mental escape
It is too late. I am devoured
Random thoughts on the clutches of fear
For Debbie Guzzi's “Fear” contest
Bob Quigley
Feb 7, 2012
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2012
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