A sound made without direction,
Directs my ill attention
Inward to the machinations,
Of a hurry to run to
As much as hide from
A corporeal pulsing which has me
Riding, yet writhing, along a topiary misdirection.
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themischiefmemoirs 
Nice kind of Fear painting that goes well with your poem. Blue Fear. I did one too when i was in high school it was rather psychedelic.
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