There is something about the cold,still air
That made your senses sharpen
And suddenly, you see every hair on your arm, standing up
And feel small bumps infecting your skin,
And you can smell the must and dust trickling into your nose,
Then, you hear, the faintest sound of something exhaling
And you taste the sweet,metallic flavor of blood trickling into your mouth
On your shoulder stand the thing you most fear, the thing that cripples you,
This creature this thing
Has your thoughts, has your secrets
Has your eyes, height,
And you fear it most because of those similarities.
And yet, you sympathize for it.
Because you know what it thinks, what it feels.
And that kills you.