Inside, outside, there’s no escape. Everywhere I look. I’m surrounded.
Who to trust? Suspicion consumes me. Where can I go, to feel safe?
I turn down an alley, hardly able to breath. Pushing myself into a doorway where no-one can see me.
But there is still someone watching. I still feel consumed by terror.
Who can it be? Where are they?
Then, a realisation. Me. I’m the observer, the follower, the spy.
Who to trust? Trust no-one.
Doubt all, even self.
© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswriter