The Itch

I hear him coming.

His servants betray him as
the darkest of chills in the night,
the silence that follows in his wake,
and the whisper of a tear

that has no meaning.

I run for freedom, but he follows
hidden in the ache in my stomach,
the treacherous thoughts that never sleep,
and the tall, thin shadow behind my door.

He waits for me to beg him to stop.

I realize now that I can never be free
from a childhood promise made in pain,
an unbreakable vow wrapped in sorrow
and understood by none.

I hear him coming and

I am alone.