I stand there,
Frozen in moment,
A spectator, a player in reprieve.
Is it shock that renders me immobile,
Incapable of processing life
And its myriad of details?
Or it is the opposite,
My paralysis a result of overexposure
To the vivid and vivacious,
And the dark and dangerous?
It doesn't matter,
Nothing does, not when I'm like this,
Frozen in my footsteps
In the path of a speeding truck.