I've been waking up to terrors again.
Mind-molded shadows. Intruders.
An intruder, to be specific.
This time, a back-packing stranger
standing in my living room,
not looking at me
as I lie on my bed,
but looking toward something unseen.
Maybe it's always the same intruder,
always present, even when not,
always watching,
always waiting.
Am I truly threatened by this individual?
Yes, of course, he's invaded my safe space.
No, of course, I want to go with him.
YOU ARE READING
Before; After
PoesíaI'm posting this looking for some feedback. Any constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. Writing has always provided me with solace, by helping me to sort through and frame my emotional experience. During one of the more difficult times...
