I fear everything.
The things that have happened and the things that may.
The thoughts that persist and won’t go away.
Like you’re not good enough. That’s and old one I know.
But it’s still a favorite part of the show.

I fear the things I know and the ones that I don’t.
I fear the beginnings and of course the ends and even the means to an end. For those are often the worst.

I fear the bump or the lump or that mass under there.
That skipped beat of heart that none can repair.

The bill that comes due on what once was you.
That time of desires which suddenly expires.

That sentence unfinished stopped in mid stream.
That breathless breath ceasing mid scream.

I fear having to say that although it’s been fun.
I’m incredibly bored and I simply must run.

I fear not giving a **** and I fear giving too much.
I fear being ignored and then longing for touch.

I fear being alone and I fear the crowd.
I fear things I’m permitted and those not allowed.
I fear having too much time and losing what I’ve got.
I fear shoulders so cold and stares that are hot.

I fear not being loved. I fear smothering too.
I fear losing myself in all that is you.

I fear knowing and not knowing as well.
That seems a unique and exquisite kind of hell.

I sit ensconced in my deepest fear
held intimately close, held tightly and dear.

It‘s been with me long and as I near the end
I start to see it is as some misunderstood friend.

I fear I’ve misjudged you such a pity is that.
I can no longer lie here growing sanguine and fat.
Oh, I beg to differ! I can definitely do that!

The piper pipes and payment is due.
He pipes for me and he pipes for you too.

I fear that my fears I may misconstrue.
My fear of me is quite often of you.

I fear being afraid which seems a bad joke
upon which my protagonist might easily choke.

I fear old age and not getting old too.
And the way to stop aging just simply won’t do.

I fear that this poem is not very good.
And that I’ve never been the best that I could.