I feel it in the depths of my aching nauseated stomach.
It keeps me up at night.
I feel it’s gaze upon me when I try to fall asleep.
It doesn’t have a name.
I try to escape it but it’s faster than me.
It looks like my father whom I haven’t seen in years.
I think I am in love with it.
It tastes sweet.
I hate what it has become.
It hates what I have become.
I saw it walking the street.
It’s the fly that’s stuck in a cobweb.
I am what it wants.
It doesn’t exist.