The Practice Of Fear Poem by Eillio Imbasciati

Sniffing the bad breeze blowing his way,
The practice of fear permeates the air
An unattractive scent, that type of sweat,
The public knows that he's a mark
World weary,
Watching for people, trying not to pull their triggers
But he cannot overcome his shattered poise,
As his agitation is as clear as a picture window
He gets the picture, he's barely in it,
Back on the fringe,
Too scared to live,
And as he feels his socks tighten the circulation around his ankles,
He finds himself so preoccupied, that doubts brew if he will again enjoy a more uplifting future breeze