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?