Hearing the footsteps creeping upon me,
The cold, sweaty, skin and the misplacement,
Like I have felt a billion times before.
I can’t hide or run from it, though I know,
It wouldn’t kill me, only terrify me.
Like every other time it approaches,
The air becomes frigid and my skin curdles.
No matter how hard I try to see it,
I fail but it does not. Its claws are cold,
Long, and can climb into my warm body,
I know this because it squeezes my heart.
It’s other two hands firmly on my lungs,
It hurts, cold, hot, and it won’t go away.
I feel it, watching me all the damn time,
I am never safe: people, the dark, hurt,
Healthy, in the light, it always watches.
I’m always a prey but never eaten,
Always its opponent, never beaten,
But I don’t think it ever tries to win.
I believe it begs for me to cower,
To feel terror so it can live as well.
To which it knows I, for it, does not fail,
To help deter its undying hunger.
Feel no pity for me, or do, does it matter?
For when death catches me, it catches it as well.

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