The future is my worst enemy,
it’s a shapeshifter with a menacing smile,
clawing its way down my path,
an obsidian vortex in the form of a spider,
sucking the life out of the forest I’ve
built.
And the thing is, I’m short sighted, so I can never
really make up its form, a foetus,
covered by amniotic fluid: yellow,
cloudy, muddy and disgusting – this
aura that protects the future (my enemy)
from showing it’s true form.
Day by day, depending
on the color and feeling of my
bedsheets, whether I’ve dreamt
of falling teeth, the future morphs
to its personal likings.
From a beautiful flower poisonous to
the touch to a pillar of arsenic,
always lethal and toxic.
The future never really leaves
me,
I know this because I smell
my own fear in the air.
I know the because since I’ve made
this enemy,
my footsteps barely touch the
ground, and the hairs on my arm
stand tall like skyscrapers (even in the morning).
No-one can protect me from the
future.
It falls through the stitching of
cotton and strides through satin.
If you ever manage to hold it on your
fingertip, it will sink
through your skin,
then, you will be injected
with pure-terror.
Don’t go looking for my
enemy,
it will find you first.
