#160

I dreamt
of an explosion.

A ticking time bomb,
awaiting its demise.

Yet,
however,
I felt calm.

As if there was
nothing
to be afraid of.

I sure am
supposed to be afraid.

Yet,
I wasn't.

There was this sort of calm—
the kind there is
when bees go buzzing
in a line
all over.

And I followed
as well.

But I wasn't
the least bit fearful.

Maybe I knew
it was a dream.

Maybe I knew
neither was real—

not even
the knife
I tried to feel
at the point of my neck.

I am supposed
to be afraid.

I shouldn't be.

I shouldn't be.

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