Festered Fear

Statistics scare me, piss me off. Numbers,years,dates...I'm talking personal statistics here,days from my own life. I hug myself because I feel cold,very cold inside.

Something's curled up, like a hedgehog touched or a touch-me-not. Maybe even a turtle,aren't they supposed to duck their heads under their shells when they're scared? So I'm that turtle, except that the object of my fear has no shape or smell or form, it's something of an invisible teardrop wrapped up in flashes from my time, my past and present,in things I've said and done and things I've screamed soundlessly and undone.