What is this cloud that hangs over my head?
It follows me like some form of dread,
Waiting, watching, readying the strike.
I fear the moment it drops its impaling spike.
What is this feeling that hovers near?
I can feel its presence as building fear.
It leans over my shoulder,
Then vanishes as I turn,
But I know it is growing bolder.
I fear what I will learn.
What is this shadow that crouches over there?
It is seen one moment, and vanished the next.
Its eyes rest on me, raising my hair.
I feel as if I have been hexed.
What is this creature that sits close by?
Why do its eyes say that I have to die?
I am not ready, and never will be.
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