I’m scared of permanence

Of any form of an ink stain on a white linen shirt

That no matter how hard I try, the scrubbing I do

Will not disappear, will not fade

One day I will come across a stain that will ******* me

And as I attempt to rid it, it will damage me further

This shirt I wear, lies lightly on my skin. A second skin.

I want to be involved yet fear an embrace

Or rather, confuse being held to being held down

Wings being clipped, screams that fall to deaf ears that cannot hear because what I fear doesn’t exist…

The fear keeps me from playing the game, yes,

But can it keep the game from playing me?