A roiling, rolling, black cloud of anger
Is coming for me.

From just over
The three hundred and sixty degrees
Of my horizon.

I can smell it,
Feel the malevolence.

I know not
From which direction it will come.

I know not
When it will catch me.

But I know it is there.

And I will be powerless
To stop it.

It terrifies me,
Paralyses me.

I wait, for the inevitable.