PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

And when did it turn
to this?
Becoming a shadow
lurking at my back-
trailing
my every scream.

I never looked behind,
but could feel, nonetheless,
such hotness
of bated breath
tempering my skin,
to perspiring dread.

At my loss-point,
I shifted,
became disenchanted
by all this,
so-called,
...living-thing.

Yet, forward still,
I traveled,
lest backroads
took me
farther away
from my tomorrow.

Nothing became
my goal
and everything
became my will-
a need to survive...
....this.

And when
did 'this'
become so very hard,
that
even the laughter,
I so feared?