The Black Swarm

I cannot grow accustomed to
Him.

Like a whispering shadow, he follows me
To remind me of my impending doom.
Gangly and grotesque, he writhes above,
A wave of noise and glaring eyes.
He found me alone and lonely,
And now he has latched onto me,
A swarm of hungry black flies.
He has become a part of me, in my self,
In my deranged, harmful mind.

I cannot grow accustomed to
Him.

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Author: paganpages

Writer of weird fiction, lover of coffee and stories with a twist.

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