︎︎︎
MARIA TAKOLANDER
The Stranger
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear,
so quiet they must be breathing with me.
Blood rushes through my veins, turbulent with fear.
Blood, bright and urgent, is crowding my ears,
crowding a silence that is panicking me.
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear.
If I turn around, would it simply appear,
or would it take violence to show itself to me?
Blood rushes through my veins, turbulent with fear.
If it was your blood surging this loud and severe,
would you turn around or flee?
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear.
Its power is obscene, that much is clear,
from the way it gloats over goading me.
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear.
Blood rushes through my veins, turbulent with fear.
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear,
so quiet they must be breathing with me.
Blood rushes through my veins, turbulent with fear.
Blood, bright and urgent, is crowding my ears,
crowding a silence that is panicking me.
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear.
If I turn around, would it simply appear,
or would it take violence to show itself to me?
Blood rushes through my veins, turbulent with fear.
If it was your blood surging this loud and severe,
would you turn around or flee?
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear.
Its power is obscene, that much is clear,
from the way it gloats over goading me.
There is someone behind me, so quiet I cannot hear.
Blood rushes through my veins, turbulent with fear.