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.
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