A Letter to Fear
You are tugging at the monofilament sutures
and it feels a little like death.
Tiny deaths threatening to take the
warmth of fur from my body,
the baby from my arms.
There is nothing real about your
uninvited visits, your wheelchair tactics.
I am keenly aware of your smell,
metallic and mucousy,
hot lava through my body
Do not draw your dull fangs at me,
I don't reply kindly to empty threats.
All your evidence is truly false
mirror, mirror, time to fall
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