fear

I am scared of many things.

It seems like a new fear is added to the list every day.

Horses, toilets, the dark,

Toilets flushing in the dark. Read more »

I'm scared

Of fish

They're so weird

Google eyes

And pursed lips

And flabby gills

Fish live in

Murky places

Like Lake Champlain

And the other side

Of Crystal Lake

They're scary

But they do taste good

  Read more »

Sometimes I get so scared I can’t

breath.

It’s like I can’t think at all

otherwise I’ll collapse.

Your pain is my

pain. 

I feel every scratch into your skin

I feel every tear that you are afraid to shed. 

When you shut yourself away, Read more »

Nothing makes sense

Nothing is clear

Encased in darkness 

You feel he is near

No way of knowing

Nowhere to run

Nothing can stop it

Not sword nor gun

You turn every corner

You draw every breath

Every decision is futile

Only leading in death

Not knowing what to do

Not knowing what to expect

You feel its presence

Taking one ice cold breath

And when you expect it

He is not there

And when you are arrogant

To the darkness, and despair

There you'll feel helpless

So small and alone

No way to come back

To your towering throne

For there you were king

You made the rules

Totally in control

Not manipulated by this ghoul Read more »

Read more »

You are in the forest.

It is night.

You stand in a clearing.

A cool breeze blows in from the northeast.

You are not sure how you got here.

You are not sure why you are here.

You stand in the clearing for a moment.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

A chill starts to run through your body.

It starts in your left index finger.

Slowly, it crawls up your arm.

It crawls like a dying man, mortally wounded.

But it crawls with purpose.

Soon, it reaches your shoulder.

From there, it spreads across your body like lightining.

You shake it off.

You are afraid.

You are not sure why you are afraid, but now this fear gives you purpose.

You take one step forward.

Then another step, another step, and another step.

You're not sure why, but you know that you must never look behind you.

Maybe that is why you are afraid.

Afraid of what you do not know, what you can not see, what you can not comprehend.

Like the chill, you shake this idea off.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up again.

You think you hear a sound behind you.

But you must not look back.

You walk a little bit faster.

You can hear your footsteps against the earth.

The sound seems to echo in the woods, or maybe that's just your imagination.

Eventually, you come upon another clearing.

Four rocks jut out of the middle of the clearing.

The three rocks that surround the fourth are large, but not as large as the fourth. Read more »

she only sings when nobody else can hear her,
like the lone tree that falls in a forest with no one
around to notice the sound,
and sometimes she wonders if she is really making
something worthwhile emerge from her lips, something
that maybe someone will call beautiful.

her whole world is a sound-proof box
that keeps the sound out and silence in as she
motions with her hands to speak and watches with
her eyes to listen, but sometimes she will
open her mouth like a songbird and sing without
knowing what her song sounds like, without knowing
if it is beautiful.

sound has never been heard by her ears
and sometimes she wonders if it exists, wonders
if the words she thinks she is humming
are even leaving her lips because she is too afraid
of disappointment to ask with her hands
if she can make a beautiful sound with her lips.

she's sad

but more than ever.

she's moody

but more than before.

she writes

but never about joy, or peace.

she sleeps

but it's a fitful one, full of nightmares and fears.

she cries

but only when her tear ducts can no longer hold the pent up flood.

she talks

but not when she needs to,

never when she needs it most.

she sees things

not her dreams of the future, but fears, death everywhere.

i watch

and worry about the consequences of helping

but what are the consequences of

                                                          watching,

                                                                         waiting, Read more »

Death? No, Fear me.

Devil? No, Fear me.

Hate? No, Fear me.

War? No, Fear me.

Unknowns? No, Fear me.

Untruths? No, Fear me.

Evil? No, Fear me.

Differences? No, Fear me.

Strife? No, Fear me.

Fear? Yes, Fear me.

I am Fear. Me.

“I'm very impressed. That suggests that what you fear most of all... is fear itself. This is very wise.” Professer Remus Lupin Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling

It’s almost quiet here

There are no voices Read more »

Self-destruction

is not the remedy

to anything,

she tells herself.

She knows

someone out there

should be able

to find the answer.

But still,

the chance of finding

that person

is impossible.

She refuses

to worry

until the morning,

so she gives up.

There is no reasoning

behind her fears.

She chokes

and cries.

She doesn't want

to be what

she's changed

herself into.

She knows

that much,

crawling to bed for

uneasy sleep.

arachnophobia

fear of spiders.

kakorrhaphiophobia

fear of failure.

theophobia

fear of God.

me

fear of life.

                     There's a light on somewhere,

                      but I know it's not for me.

                  There's a name printed on the page

that I refuse to see. Read more »

I came to a great and sudden truth today.

I found out that it is not anger that is my heaviest emotion;

It's fear.

A stinking, rotting, foul-smelling fear of being the only one around.

It's the fear that permeates my very existence,

Saturates my every thought and word and action.

I don't know where it comes from.

I don't know how it began.

All I know, is that it simply IS.

And that it's the center of every single obstacle I build for myself.

And I cannot overcome it. Read more »

This is for Leah and Connor.

This is for everyone who knew them.

This is for everyone who didn't.

For all those strangers who've ever seen them walking around,

Or who've heard their name called by another person they don't know.

I want you to know that I've gotten the message

And I am shaken by it.

I want you to read my words

And feel my fear.

I want you to know that I know that I am missing two life-long stories Read more »

Just another punk tragedy,
rebel with a cause of your own making.
I think you look like a fool
when you fall to the stage
but when you look up with that cold smile
all eyes are on you
and you bask in the attention.

The toneless shiver in your voice
[the ecstasy of showbiz, babe]

Read more »

She's waiting in the shadows.

She's waiting, lurking, whispering. Her laugh is like razorblades on chalkboards, her eyes are like marbles in the sand.

Her clothes are dark like a blackened burned careless charcoal house that was once a home. Her hair is a purple that is nearly black. Her smile is never warm, but is the shiver of someone walking over someone else's grave.

No one knows what she is, the woman waiting in the shadows. No one knows what she is or where she came from. No one knows how she came about. Read more »

Based on “And Here We Aren’t, So Quickly” by Jonathan Safran Foer. 
• Read more »

There are no lights
Because we're outside
There is no stage
Because we're on grass
There is no audience
It's just a dress rehearsal
And there is no fear
But I know there will be
But fear doesn't worry me
Because I know what comes next
The triumph after the play
Knowing what I've done
Is so much better
Than anything I've ever known.

Why should you fear me
When I do not fear you
Why should you cry at my arrival
When I welcome yours

Why should you run from me
When I mean you no harm
Why do you think I bring pain
When all I offer is peace

Why do you say I have no mercy
When mercy is all I have
Why do you say I am cruel
When I am kinder than many

Most of you I let alone for a while
Most of you have a long time
But at the end of a busy day
Everybody needs to sleep

Why do you fear me
When I do not fear you
Why should you cry at my arrival
When I welcome yours.

Prologue
When Alexandrina Celeste Smith was seven, she didn’t believe in monsters. She didn’t believe in monsters or magic or anything out of the ordinary. She was a calm, rational seven-year-old girl. Which is as rare as it sounds.
When Alexandrina Celeste Smith was seven years old, everything changed. Everything got turned on its head.

Ally lay in bed, suddenly wide awake.
There had been a noise in her bedroom. It had woken her up. She looked at the window. It was open.
“I’m not scared,” she said aloud, defiantly.
“That’s not smart.” Read more »

Prologue
When Alexandrina Celeste Smith was seven, she didn’t believe in monsters. She didn’t believe in monsters or magic or anything out of the ordinary. She was a calm, rational seven-year-old girl. Which is as rare as it sounds.
When Alexandrina Celeste Smith was seven years old, everything changed. Everything got turned on its head.

Ally lay in bed, suddenly wide awake.
There had been a noise in her bedroom. It had woken her up. She looked at the window. It was open.
“I’m not scared,” she said aloud, defiantly.
“That’s not smart.” Read more »

The girl was Allison. Or maybe Allison was the girl. She wasn’t really sure anymore.
Allison remembered the exact time that she first saw the girl. She was eight, and the girls at school had been bullying her, teasing her about how her clothes were too small and how she wasn’t as pretty as the rest of them. Mum was at work, and Allison didn’t have a dad, so when Allison had run home crying, she’d been all alone.
Allison had run to her bed and cried into her pillow. Then a girl’s voice had talked to her.
“Don’t cry.” Read more »

I lie huddled in the corner of my bed, sheets wrapped tightly around me.
The psychiatrist my parents had forced me to go to said there was something I wasn’t telling her. Said there was something worrying me that was manifesting itself in this fear, and that I wasn’t telling her what it was.
You’re 16, my parents told me severely. You’re too old to believe in monsters under the bed. Now grow up and get over it.
The kids at school whisper and point in the halls. Crazy Chloe, they say. Mad Chloe.
But I’m not crazy. I’m not mad. This fear isn’t childish. It isn’t irrational, either. Read more »