By Lucie Kavanagh
It’s like being firmly clamped
between the jaws of…not a monster.
(That might seem impressive)
but something dark and slug–like, heavy,
that can pull you down simply by existing.
A sea monster would be swirly and brave.
It would be an adventure to survive, a story
that might be retold in your absence.
Darkness is not a story.
If it were solid you could grasp it and shake,
cat like, triumphant with your prey.
Darkness envelopes you.
You consume each other.
It sits in your stomach, clutches every breath.
It pulls your limbs away from movement
It waves in front of every thought.
A monster would be a battle fought and won
It would make you a warrior, arm you for wars ahead.
Darkness bides its time. Covers you.
Sits on your shoulder.
Darkness pulls you back from the world,
muffles your voice. Whispers in dreams.
Darkness wins, by being invisible.
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