I Am Scared of What I Behold
Am I unreal?
A work of fiction if you may.
The author relishing,
the sadistic humour he scribbles
is it as amusin as ballet?
Dissociating from myself
Physiological responses I do confront
but no emotion,
it does entail.
My soul, was it hunt?
I am overwhelmed,
so much so that I feel blank.
Coping by believeing ,
in the sociopathic tendencies I fabricate.
Is this a prank?
Gazing at the people,
whist paddling down the streets,
countless pounding hearts
of which I feel devoid of.
When will this mess excrete?
A ticking time bomb
Almost lifeless and extinct
Like a myoclonic twitch
Which revives the asleep body
Reminding it that it is not dead
I anticipate a breakdown and fleeting emotions
Which I extremely fear and dread.
I am afraid of what I behold
Assuming it to be worse than a tsunami
building up inside me
tears that stem from nothingness.
Which I did not consiously burry.
I try to cry and let it out.
I can’t
I can’t
I am scared of what I behold.
Copyright © Prerna Magon | Year Posted 2018
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