Saber tooth
worries stalk me
circling my perimeter day after day
–kept at busy’s bay–
they attack from tusk to dawn
chewing up my insides,
and scoring through my outsides,
and second-guessing decides,
they pack with wild bore’s
–the kill of which
often renders them one and the same–
all the while
caveman cackling
maniacally from a distance
–disturbing chorus pitched particular to my frequency–
and though I gird myself
and guard myself,
and run myself
and from myself,
–all quest for safe haven
returns
–on silent pause–
to me.
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