~Poetry of fear

The Touch, the Feel

Phoenix Excelsior

I walk silently, the looming houses in the distance.

The grass is dewy. It soaks the hems of my robes.

Their shadows loom ahead of me, like evil green scarecrows.

I walk faster, body a-quiver.

I stand on the stone entranceway deciding whether to walk in or bolt.

People push me out of the way and open the doors.

A whiff of that intoxicating perfume enters my nostrils.

Curse the glass horticulture!

The horror of all those plants.

I drop my books, sweat dripping off my forehead.

My brown hair askew.

I run, off into the forest.

Screaming for mercy.