The Personal Demon

Prose Poetry

It lurks over your shoulder. Image made by the author in Canva using free-to-use images.

She haunts me. Day, night, awake, asleep. There is no escape. She quiets, but she has yet to leave me. Her whispers tickle my ear, sending shivers of dread prickling down my neck, arms, and core, gnawing at me until I’m just bones.

Her favorite weapon, so versatile, stills my motions and deflates me. Fast and deadly or slow and neverending.