It comes, and it goes.
It haunts me, and it knows.
Sneering, grinning at the agony of my defeats
It torments me, despite seeing that I’m weak.
From the countless visits,
I find its face etched into my mind,
Burned into my soul,
And imprinted on my heart.
Crooked, but blank.
Sinister in its idea, but blind I am to its truth.
It is wicked in every sense.
Black as the night,
Uncaring as the cold,
As mean as the sun,
And as frightening as death.
My body freezes up with every breath.
The chest tightens, constricts, compress.
Color fades, light leaves, and the grip consumes.
Taking me down to with the unbearable pressure.
The suffocating depths are impotent when stood aside this ghastly nightmare.
Its commands ring loud, leaving me stripped bare.
To drown tis but a luxury fate deems unfit to bestow upon me.
Uncomfortable in my own skin.
As its wretched figure hides itself within.
Reflections show only its cursed face,
And every night there is only its embrace.
Unfamiliar in my own home, my own world.
Stranger to me and to all.
The antithesis I feel I’ve become.
Twisted, warped, distorted by the ceaseless suffering.
Crippled, deprived, deranged from the sleeplessness.
Broken, forgotten, empty with the heartache.
Weakened, wounded, lost.
It creeps up and creeps in, like a parasite with an insatiable appetite.
The thorns and bramble-like hands grips what it can, and refuses release.
A bondage unlike any other.
Yet from its feeding, it finds no delight.
It is simply there to hurt and to maim.
To strike down, and keep down.
To undermine and to overtake.
Its name, and its purpose are lost and unknown.
Its origins, and its desires are mysterious and untold.
Its strength, and its influence are undeniable and boundless.
I bow to its wrath, or it makes me kneel.
Foul beast, the abysmal creature that plagues me.
I’ve grown fond of its presence,
Almost soothed by its haunting figure.
Like friends we are, it and I.
Even though as mostly dead I lie.