Tell me what you see when you look into my eyes.
Is it fury? Frustration? Fire?

Or is it fear?

Fear is a feral serpent, slithering through the slips of time,
always hunting for the most succulent,
untainted and unblemished skin to latch its fangs in to-
the perfect neck to wind around
and squeeze of each last powdery breath.

But it is not fear that roils within my eyes.

I am angry at fear,
for it grips me like any other mortal-
and I am angry at its tail that lashes my back,
knocking me to my knees and demanding my gaze
as I watch it batter my spirit.
I am not without fear, but it does not rule me-
No, fear only bitters the taste in my mouth.

And it’s the taste that angers me.

Tell me what you see when you look into my eyes.
It is not fear, but a fury-
A fury at what I cannot control,
a dread of being paralyzed in what I do not know.
A fury at the fear that swims in my veins.