Fear Feeds on the Famished

***note to you: read it twice.***












Attribute it to
Anxiety.
Apprehension.
In awe of the approaching
Alarm,
I lose articulation.


Don’t doubt my demeanor.
I’m dubitable.
Debatable.
Never really disputable.
And dread the day
When “dare not”s
Are despotic and distributable.
Its distressing and
Digesting this drollery
Is next to detestable.




Concern for my cowardice
Creates confusion…
I’m losing
Constraint. Confounded by
Concessions given, and I
Cringe in the wake.





Fainthearted and faltering
Found freedom in fleeing.
It’s fleeting but
Falling to flitting flights
Of fetching fancy
Can be freeing.
And foreseeing fixation,
Fret formidable flaws.
Flinch at the notion
Of fraudulent cause.
You’ll Forgive me
For failing to


Prevent probable pause,
In panic posture
Predicting flawed paradox
Of paranoia and perdition.
Call it preoccupation
With perplexing partition.
Or simply a problem-
No proposition…
Not to placate the persistent.


This trivial existence in
Tension-tried times of
Temporary torment.
It’s tricky.
Takes traitorous form and
Then trembles in trepid
Transience upon termination.
It isn’t quite tribulation
But a test of tenacity.









The fear feeds
For the first fortnight
On fidelity, fondness,
And the forgivably
Forthright.