No Repairs in
Fear Poems
I'm afraid of something I used to do
all the time, dripping year-old engine
oil, dark and slippery, and all you do
is put down an old piece of cardboard
to catch it. Is that really good enough
for you? The street lights dim as I drive
closer to your building, and my organs
ache, so worried the sounds are abnormal.
Soon I shall sleep eighteen hours
when I finally can.
By echoshindig
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