Anticipation gnawls at my soul

Pause between flash and thunder

Hairs jumping at my neck

My eyes widen, breath deepens

I recall everything and nothing

I ride the burning, racing pulse

Thoughts tear at reality’s grasp

One does not control one’s self

When I let go, I feed my needs

Chains of control should stay barren

My thoughts free to roam

Within those deep forests that

We whisper about anticipation


The Mask

My fingers ply at the mask

Janis should be our patron saint

My smile tears at your frown

Warm pleasant thoughts try to thaw

Distant storms stir dreams of hope

Your person moat worn like badge

With no bridge we stay afar

Mysteries of imaginary barriers

Built by ghosts waiting for your bidding

I visits them regularly in your place

But still my fingers ply at the mask

When do I dare remove it?