An object of hatred?
Or an article that
Appends additional anxiety?

A hand that let go,
Allowing me to fall into the flow.
Another that grabbed on
But it’s grasp now weakens.

The fear of knowledge
Overriding my yearn for it,
My fear of the answer
Increasing beyond finites, bit by bit.

I wonder if something like that
Is really the truth,
Or is it just her hidden tone
That venomizes my mind
And removes rational thought.