Pool of doubt

A premonition of possible demise.

Smoke curls from cracked lips,

whispering, “failure”.

Cold rotten fingers reach out to choke.

Warm surging blood,

pushes through a stiff neck.

A sick ache fills an empty stomach.

Icy sweat, saturated with fear,

coats palms as they reach out,

to touch the approaching demon.

Standing still, waiting to be consumed.

The haunting monster swims out,

of the swirling water,

of the mirror.

. . .

Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

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