Fear Itself is Unafraid

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Fear itself is unafraid.

It laughs at me as I run away

from the things I see inside my head,

from the thoughts that fill my heart with dread.

I run until my lungs turn cold,

my legs grow weak, my body old,

and soon a blur is all I see

as my mind twists my reality.

The ground itself becomes unknown,

the sky above seems to have grown,

and all that I once understood

appears foreign, no longer good.

But fear itself is unafraid

of the things from which I run away.

It laughs at me as I start to scream,

pushes me down with eyes a-gleam,

and while I’m shaking to the core

it whispers into my head, “more.”

I tremble, lying in my bed,

then I realize it’s all in my head.

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