Despondent

I’m not that sorry. You started it.

But I am really scared.

Horrified.

Petrified.

I feel them stalking me.

The others.

The authorities.

My peers.

People.

Strangers.

I sense them following me in their own space.

They there where they are, wherever they are, are on me and I am under them and I am a victim, a prey, of their vicious malice.

I will be destroyed soon.

By them.

Something horrible is going to happen soon.

And we have to stop it.

I have an ever-present sense of tragedy inside me.

I am despondent.

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