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She is the desperate look of my reflection
as I wonder whether I still have any control,
like a junkie fiending for a fix
in the mix of chaos and depression--
the slow regression of sanity into paranoia.
Is She Watching Me?
She is the background to every dream,
the persistent scream in my mind
that something or someone is always watching
with the focused and frenzied look of a lunatic
filled with hatred for being locked away.
Is She Waiting for Me?
She is the shadow lurking just outside,
barely willing to hide so that I can never decide
whether she is actually there or whether
I am just scaring myself into thinking
there is something waiting to be found.
The End is Near
She is the growing fear that the end is nearer
than I'd once expected, and that nothing will mend
until I feed my feline friend
her tuna feast.
Cleo the Cat
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