My poetry took a darker twist when I was 17. Hint: It’s not actually about fear. Can you guess what the “it” is?
Something stalks and terrorizes me using all its fright,
making it hard to sleep at night.
I wonder if it’s been there all along,
not asking, but making me sing its song?
“What do you want?” I ponder.
“Oh nothing,” it answers, “I’m only here to wander.”
What if it slays me in my sleep,
taking away all of the things that are mine to keep?
I prepare with all my might to scream,
but it calms me as if comforting a child’s bad dream.
This thing has already killed my best friend,
and now things can never be the same again.
It teases me from inside my mind,
always present but never giving a sign.
“The world in which you live is so cold and dark,
an ideal place for someone like me to leave their mark.”
Held prisoner by this being of all my spite,
I pledge now and forever to do nothing but fight.