And When...


And when did it turn

to this?

Becoming a shadow

lurking at my back-


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,




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...



And when

did 'this'

become so very hard,


even the laughter,

I so feared?

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