Paranoia on Jericho Road

Coming upon the hill,
I swerved the dawn of headlights,
hitting the oak tree
that awaited my arrival.
 
The blurred branches claw the windshield,
my hands clammy,
imprinted on glass.
Fumes submerge as I inhale,
my every shrill cry briefly muted.
 
Figures, indistinct, stroll past the car
(Chilling their position),
as if I am babied by entrapment.
Eyes tighten and pupils dilate.
 
They grin to see this girl distraught,
their looks as dry and impure
as the skin on my lips.
All their souls bear cavities
that devour them.
 
I wish I could bleed out my anxieties;
indeed these figures would depart.
My reflection displays on the window
what they see.
 
Truth be told I woke to understand their looks,
as spiders prowled the ridges of my spine,
and I glimpsed the excerpt of roses
on dark mahogany
and mother lingering over me.