ParasiticThis feeling... It teases.
An acute stinging, almost:
Like a heavy boot to my chest, it leans weight onto my ribs and all can muster is a scream.
I swear and pray for it to end, for all of its force to puncture flesh and ends our tortuous existence.
But it doesn't.
It's more a part of me than anything else. Creeping in like a silent predator, waiting for its victims attention to be focused to what it thinks matters, and then to strike.
Yet... Not lethal.
Enough to draw blood, but not to kill.
The hunt is long over, yet, it still clings to me.
Much like a shadow, following every step I take and lingering in the thoughts I have.
A parasite, if anything.
Feeding on what's left of me, with no regard to the suffering I am dealt to fuel it's existence.
To cut this feeling would be to sever my very existence.
For this feeling has me strangled and bound, tightening as the years progress.
It whispers little glimpses of hope in my ear as I am constrained.
The kind that