Fear is the spirit you smoke,
as you turn the pages of a new book.
It is the possibility of burning away
all the endings that never got a look.

Anxiety rises on the shortened out purging of air,
as you begin to replay the chances left untaken.
There is a gripping on the heart,
caused by all the things that ever left you shaken.

An eternal loss,
without the chance to say goodbye-
All the secrets and heartbreak,
that you ran right by

catch up to you in a moment of confusion,
not knowing why the fear came unexpected.
It isn’t until the crisis has passed,
that you see the uneasiness was only reflected. 

And it’s your own face mirrored back to you
in that brief second of reading something that hits your heart.
You’ve always been the protagonist of your story,
but good writing makes you unable to set the hero and the villain apart.