
Some days I don’t recognize her silhouette against the horizon.
Her feet run like a river but her mind is a dark moon rising.
Some days she follows me silently, waiting for the right moment,
And I only realize when it’s too late, once my mouth is foaming.
She doesn’t bite, she only chuckles in the foggy street corners.
She spreads the disease by filling my head with ten mourners.
The crows are chasing the sparks of my brain through the park,
I trip and tumble over my own two feet, no clarity in this dark.
Her presence is stronger, she comes closer, it’s a rollercoaster.
My shivering back pressed against a tree, sky picturesque like a poster.
I hold what’s left of my breath, squeeze my lids together tightly.
When I dare to look again, I hear a whisper sliding through the woods:
“Next time don’t fight me.”
-JW








