It is everywhere
The shadows of stretching retching black fabric
Covering the bones and eyeing the sorrow growing
It is disease and distress, at frayed edging
Cloaking, grim reaper standing
Lusting after the healthy
Its shadow stalking in the happiest memories
A midnight watcher, the anti-hero
The detective, detecting from inside the mirror glass eyes
Under the hood, behind the shutter, waiting for, surprise

I am but a bed ridden snippet of life
Found in carnal knowledge, lost in shadow and shameful abandonment
And when the world calls time
He has found me
The figure
The shadow
The stalker
Creeping, showing over my bed
Fingers reaching and creating upon my body
A spiders web, of patchwork skin and slithering rivers of meandering memory

(exhale)

Silhouetted figure, not unlike
A Film noir platform hanger
I can almost see the footsteps in the clouded smoke, arousing from the tracks
Hair that swings like a curtain call on a show ending
A chance for reminiscing
Too late, in memory, this shan't happen
Is regret all that is left, at the end of this disparaging journey

Over cloaked, and choked, with the thinnest of thread veiling my eyes
Lined up with your cries
I no longer see you, for it is spirit that keeps my smile
Not the attempts at keeping good humour that ricochet from wall to wall
The verbal game of squash, and I do not need to know what the world is wanting for dinner
I just need the satisfaction of completing an unfinished thought.

Breathing, keep breathing
I am blackened, no longer in breath
The midnight watcher, stalker
Retrieved the soul, of another
Black curtain, descending
The play, now ending