Spit mixed with dirt – Muddy words flow
The dread of night
where I lay alone in the dark
and the abyss presses in
and small sounds
become large
and my loneliness
becomes unbearable
and there’s no reprieve.
Only me.
In my mind it’s all
pine needles
dampness
and a gentle sobbing in the distance
And the dread deepens.
tara caribou | ©️2026
Host of the In Three Poems Podcast
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