There’s a storm coming,
I can feel its teeth in the wind,
biting at my face and fingers.
I can hear it too,
the low growl of a hungry carnivore,
the rumbling of a thunderous gut.

Everyone is oblivious,
there is danger coming
and it is so palpable.
Can you not taste it?
Can you not smell it?
The hot breath of death
vibrating the back of your neck?

Everyone is so busy,
*******, texting, *******, crying.
Death is at your heels
and you do not know.
A thousand crows make landfall
and you think something else has died?

There’s a storm coming.
You can wish it away
but this is no fairytale.
There is no magic to save you,
no antique lamp to rub.
What you think is your skin
is just a body bag.
Your soul just a flirtatious rumour.