Overdrive

My mind it stands in a fighting stance

stretched thin and focused,

eager for an enemy

that never shows itself.

That slinks about in the shadows

like a serpent-fae

intent and waiting

for a slip, some slack,

a thought caught off-guard - 

light speed comes the strike

leaves my mind splayed

with successive bites

like a threadbare doily...

but never a rag.

The above poem is for the NaPoWriMo2022. Day 12. Today, we chose mediocrity.