I sense dark shapes,
catch glimpses of them in the night,
In the day they are harder to see,
still I feel them there, menacing me.
Borne of ill-defined worries,
living in peripherals of vision and thought,
on the edge of my consciousness,
I hope that they’re nought.
But maybe they’re not,
maybe they’ll grow,
Into something that can bite me, hurt me,
I don’t know…
I write notes during
that I read back at night,
that it will all be alright….