Fear

I think the word capricious has it in for me.

At breakfast she pours over an empty fridge,

Taking out a cereal bar and throwing it in the trash.

I think she and trepidation are playing games with me.

They make shapes across the blinds

And make me itch in places I can’t scratch.

I think mercurial is spying on me.

From a branch in the storm she beckons,

Smiling that I should come and play

I think I’ll go out today.

I think I’ll stay.

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