There is a thing inside me -
a shadow with no face,
a parasite unseen,
whispering poison in my veins.
It stalks my every thought,
a ghost beneath my skin,
claws scraping at my sanity,
silent, patient, endless.
I live here
in the loop -
wash,
doubt,
sanitise,
doubt,
change,
doubt,
retrace,
doubt,
double check,
doubt,
repeat -
repeat -
repeat.
Discomfort is my pulse now -
it beats louder than hope,
louder than rest.
It feeds on my discomfort,
grows stronger in my unrest,
its breath cold on my neck,
its eyes watching where I cannot see.
It once wore the guise of demons,
now it wears bacteria’s mask -
a million invisible hunters,
each one a blade in the dark.
How ill have I become -
to lock my own mind away,
to build the bars myself,
to swallow the key?
My hell is invisible,
misunderstood,
not reason,
not logic -
only contamination OCD,
this captor,
this phantom leash,
tightening -
tightening -
For over a year now,
every thought bent to its will,
every step weighed in its shadow.
My mind, once my home,
is now its hunting ground,
and I - its captive,
bound by unseen chains,
dragged deeper into hell.
Will I ever break free?
Or is this shadow my shadow -
an echo of myself
that will never leave?
I do not know.
I only know the stalker inside
does not sleep.