Fear, is the sister to I anger
I think.
They walk hand in hand,
Laughing at pain with no shame.
And hand in hand they come to me.
Anger, the brother, making clear
how ironic this is.
(I who wanted to close this book)
That I should fear,
I'm something more then paranoid.
Fear, the sister, laughs at my naivety,
That I would choose the end.
That I was not afraid.
Till the night sweats came,
with a bump, a gift from family.
