Terror

There is a gland, I think it's in my throat, that's squirting terror chemicals into my blood stream.  My heart pumps my blood, and feels the terror in it.  My innards and brains are in knots.  I try and speak, but it comes out as screaming.  I'd like to look kindly on mothers pushing their babies in strollers down the sidewalks, but all they see is death in me, and clutch at their purses and brace themselves in passing.  The sun has no effect on my skin, but the night is absorbed in it.  I am like a ghost wailing for a home.

My god looks kindly upon adventurers.  He looks kindly on who will use their strong faith and manifest their belief into actions.  Running off would be running with his designs for me.  But alas, I cannot.  Insecurity, cowardliness, and fear are my best friends.  Fear has given me a sour candy to suck on.  He laughs at the face I make when I suck on it.