Poetry

Substance of Fear

Thursday, November 2, 2017 by Christopher Matthias

By default, we do fear fear itself.
And the fear, is not nothing.

It is the walls of home
Becoming those of a respite-less cell.

The body releases waste
without consent.
Humiliation and shame.

Life in atrophy.
A caught bass
too big for it’s bucket
exhausts what little air
Occupies the close confines from freedom.
Drowns.
Body stiffens.
Death is curved.

Fear is rot.
Vitality rendered like chicken fat
Withering.                                                                                        Separated.
Savor-able flavor
Oils the onions of others.
An aroma to everyone’s delight

Save the chicken.

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