The Man in the Hat

There's dark and grey

every night and day, 

if not living here,

then waiting near,

to pounce, to maul

slow me to a crawl. 

I want to want to want to,

but it's haunting, haunting, haunting.

And, in truth,

it's too much work,

so I don't.

This poem is about: 
Me

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