Inside, a rotting, lurking in shadows
of darkened thought. Confidence
takes a powder and all that remains
are the knock-kneed jitters of
these failing nerves. Seldom brought
out to play; never wandering past
nose’s end. The journey of a thousand miles
ceases before that first step lands.
Needing a leap of faith
to allow flight to commence.
Waiting for fear to subside.
And yet, inside, a rotting.