A Study in Anxiety

I
It’s like having veins
full of tepid jelly

and a small shrapnel of fear lodged in your throat
like a bullet that the tiniest instinct could trigger to tears.

It’s the moment when people
transform into undefinables
and every inch of you
sits at odd angles.

It feels as though your entire body
is made of the finest, rarest china
and any contact will cause it to break.

It’s an unwritten page,
afraid of what the after word will say.


II
He stole upon her like a slow-brewed storm
and marinated her in a mist.

When she saw him,
it was like twilight was blooming
in the skyline of her head.

He had a touch like a thousand devils repenting,
sinking like seduction under her skin.

It felt like fate,
inevitable.

And who was she to argue against that?

© Keighley Perkins

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About handshedown

Keighley Perkins is a Cardiff-based poet whose influences include Anis Mojgani, Selima Hill and Richard Brautigan. Her work has previously been published in "Acumen", "Elbow Room", "Erbacce", "Fire", "Northwind" and "Obsessed with Pipework". She can also be found online on Twitter at @handshedown. View all posts by handshedown

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