Mors Tua Vita Mea
I know he’s here
Hiding in the cellars of my rib cage
In the spaces between my vertebrae
Glued to my muscles
And every ounce of my blood.
Doubt.
“Mors Tua Vita Mea”
He hisses, slithering through my flesh
“Mors Tua Vita Mea”
He repeats, seated in a dark corner of my brain.
“You can do it.”
A friend pats my back.
As my mind dissolves
In the echo of the hushed voice.
He sings the battle cry
“But I am not even fighting”
I silently scream when something jitters.
Gut.