path of gens. the road to fear.

path of gens. the road to fear.

woman in black long sleeve dress screaming
Photo by Rene Asmussen on

panic is like a little voice standing on the shoulders of worry, shouting, in a tiny voice but in a vast empty room filled with boom and echoes, spreading rumors, and birthing life to innuendos, your rational self whispers rational thoughts in a calming matter, no matter, that other voice shatters even the best firewall, at least in drips and drabs, and sometimes waterfalls, the dyke breaks and floods commence, all the while we hope for the best and know for the best that most of the worst will not commence, but for that certain uncertainty unleashed, growing, multiplying, hard to see or count those masses massing in shadow, panic does not thrive in light, dwelling and swelling in the comforts of night, undermine, underfoot, under your breath the words, take flight, but to where? is there a safe space, somewhere, no, shelter in place, any place, as safe as can be which seems like a threat space now, but how? just days ago things were peach, not a worry in the sky, not a cloud, now this breach, this worry, this agent of chaos raging, throbbing, pulsing beyond control, we will to shut it out but our only option now, wait it out…

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