I don't know if
I can do this
It feels too heavy

I know I can handle it
My past
Can attest for that

But I feel my hand slipping
And I need to hold on

What if I let go?
Will it be as
catastrophic as I think?

A curtain of black hair
drapes across her
utopian face,
her lips pursed
in concentration.

I ask,

what are you
writing about?

and her mouth curves
into a deadly smile.

She says,

"A compilation of 21st century
horror stories and other
*catastrophes."