Lurk

The shadows

Intoxicated, the walk home from the night bus,
not one care in the world,
until this irrational chill of fear.

You take the dark dank back alleys,
heavy low leaved twitchels,
dodgy, littered cut-throughs,
unlit unmade paths.

You rationalise:
danger comes from the shadows,
it does not lunge into them.

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