I'm afraid, my Paris is green.

Lately it's all crumbling buildings, and end of the world signs bigger than the homeless men holding them. But that isn't what scares me. Its a entirely different doomsday that I'm afraid of.

I'm afraid of the day the wind stops singing to the sun. I'm afraid of the day that dreamers stop dreaming, and the clouds stay away for good. I'm afraid that one day peoples eyes will start to see me. And spiders will start to fly.

I'm afraid to get to close. That I won't even feel it burn me, even though my hands on the burner. And they all think "it'll burn-her". But I'm afraid I'm already burnt.

I'm afraid of falling asleep in a field of poppies, and waking up to find everyone else dead. Where is home Dorothy? Because I'm afraid my path isn't laid out in yellow bricks, and my slippers don't sparkle. I'm afraid its just me, my brain works to much, my heart is to big, and my courage gets me killed every time.

I'm afraid of the dust in the wind. I'm afraid to breath it in. Because ashes spread everywhere, and my lungs can't filter out what the dead leave behind.

I'm afraid the stair case to heaven doesn't exist. That now it's escalators, and elevators, and I'll always be afraid to get on.

I'm afraid that all the tiny people running the business in my brain will take a vacation. To Aruba. They will all fall in love with there scuba instructor, and never come back. I'm afraid I will be left by myself, with office chairs, and paper clips.

I'm afraid that my life is all a joke. Someday I will get where I think I'm going, and the Glory Man, bearded and dressed in white will just laugh. His punchline will hit me harder than the tight fist of purity.

I'm afraid of the sweet words that flow so freely from there lips. I'm afraid the bitter is just hiding, waiting for me to accidentally find it.

I'm afraid that boxtops will stop showing up on top of all my boxes. And the only thing my food will feed is my own selfish hunger.

I'm afraid that someday I'll belong in the kitchen, but my sandwiches will suck.

I'm afraid of breaking the swing set. I'm afraid, that I was so afraid to swing all the way over I missed my chance with destiny. And now recess is over.

I'm afraid the starving kids in Africa would actually eat the day old waffle I dropped on the floor. I'm afraid the syrup is the only thing that would stick with me. I'd pack my fork and spoon, and head home only to carelessly leggo my eggo.

I'm afraid of the day kids cross the street without looking both ways. I'm afraid of shotty breaks, and blood on the crosswalk.

I'm afraid scars are like finger prints. Mine will represent me. I'm afraid they'll define me forever.

I'm afraid no one knows my name. It's just meaningless letters assembled on a page, or a blog. It could show up on a tag in the morgue and no one would know it. It'll tip toe off my tombstone before it ever reaches the tip of someones tongue.



I'm afraid my world is on fire. I'd call for help, but I don't get a signal in this smoke.