It lives inside me.
Dwelling in the depths of my stomach.
My soul.
Every once in a while,
When I am alone,
It reaches its spiney,
Taloned hands,
And rakes its nails down my heart.
Not hard, but enough to leave a dull throb.
When I am alone,
It reaches its dried,
Cracked lips
And creates worms that slither
Thoughts into
The unguarded
Crevasses
Of my brain.
They are hurtful,
Evil,
Malicious,
They claw and rip apart
My self-control
Until I break down
And succumb to its wishes.
It uses me like a marionette
Like its own puppet.
It happens so much,
That I have developed an irrational fear,
Of
Being
Alone.
