This stranger at my back

I’ve never seen this stranger at my back

But in my weakest moments his stench

Emanates from puss-filled pores.

The acrid sulphur of devil’s brimstone

Mixed with bargain store cologne

Reeks and invades my nostrils, lingering

With the resolve of a sun-drenched corpse.

I’ve never seen this stranger at my back

But in my weakest moments I feel him quiver

And vibrate with perverse eagerness.

He cowers, loitering uninvited behind my

Left shoulder; the unwanted presence of

A lecher cornering his young charge with

The relish of fulfilling unspeakable desires.

I’ve never seen this stranger at my back

But in my weakest moments I see him

In my mind in all his horrid glory -

Lank scarecrow hair, Jaundice-faced, and

Crooked tobacco-stained teeth.

Bony fingers click and writhe and squirm

A razor’s width from my shoulder blades.

I’ve never seen this stranger at my back

But in my weakest moments I hear

His black mamba words – a forked

Tongue pierces my brain accurate as

A doctor’s needle, injecting serpentine

Suggestions with soft, gentle hisses;

Venomous words taunt me to self-harm.

I’ve never seen this stranger at my back

Because when I turn to catch him

There is only the vague shadow

Of a monster beyond reach.