You are the black hole of my being—

your cold, gnarled fingers squeeze and

twist and yank at me from the inside,

desperate to come out and shade

me with your wretchedness.

You are enigmatic; I have never

ceased to wonder why you

tinker with my already frail feelings of

security and content. You stop

your constant twisting and fidgeting at

night…when the sun has set and the

moon has risen—when the owls come

out to hunt and when the raccoons come

out to destroy—but although you cease

to move, you never stop whispering

to me. The hollow, deadness of your

voice keeps me awake, my eyes wide

open, dry and pained. There are days

when I want you to consume me,

break free of the ties that bind us—

take me. Then I remember that it is

better for me to wait—an opportunity

will arise for you, but until then I still

have control. I am your captor, as you

are my own and one day you will

be quelled. You will be satisfied,

Shadow, but only the day I die.

What will happen then, Shadow?

Will you miss me? 

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