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.