Flash.

A presence treading with me through the course of time;

a phantom keeping steady hold to this hand of mine;

has it always been with me, here at my side?

has it always protected and watched my blind-side?

why do the stars seem to bleed from my eyes?

like memories of leafy trees and autumn skies?

while the blood boils hotly and I see flashes of white,

my skin’s sensitivity has alerts set on high,

like static electricity reminding me to look alive,

has it always been with me, right here the whole time?