30.11.2025

fear is sneaking up my throat unstoppable like a vine

covered in thorns, every gulp for air constricted

by feeling like there is a hand closing around

my neck;

I am the bunny frozen in the stare of my anxieties,

I am prey to my own emotions, an immovable object

in my own right and I can't help but think that

I should be better than this, better at all of this

– this is not my first time getting so lost on the way,

this is my life, after all, crippled by poisonous megaflora

as it might be;

I want things to be different, I just still haven't found

the right machete to cut a way through this jungle