Fear abounds.

I hear the sounds.

Scream echoes bound
thru acoustic rounds
that steer them down
to where eardrums are found.

I see the sight.

Like blinding light,
it fills minds with fright
that makes fight or flight
and stronger might
seem like they’re right.

Terror’s enigma
creates a stigma,
so when a comma
gives pause to drama,
I smell the aroma
of hematoma.

Like a witch
spells without a hitch,
I feel dread’s touch
won’t yield to much
with despair as such
a cripple’s crutch.

While I do abhor
this phobic lore,
I can’t ignore
this life’s horror.

I taste the flavor
of unchaste behavior.

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