I am the seed of Fear,

she said,

darkly germinated by

shame,

the unknown,

consequence.

 

I grow.

 

I will smear and stain,

bleeding blue as I weep,

heaving deep silent bellows

which bulge with the weight of emerging ghosts,

and billow and roll with explosions of regret.

 

I inflate.

 

My voluptuous curves undulate,

surge as they summon and shape

chill wisps of thought into a swelling mass

to blind you,

muffle you,

smother you,

condense you,

cocoon you in a throbbing curlicue –

my inky signature, muted in mist.

I will eclipse you.

 

I dilate.

 

I am denser than air,

cloud, fog, smoke, or tainted veil

and will choke you with the opacity of despair.

My diaphanous shroud of delicate florets is laden, engulfing;

I cannot be shaken off.

I will bury you.

 

I bloat.

 

I sag

and drag you down.

 

Or can you burst free?