Monster of My Soul

A feeble sort of knocking reminds me that the monster is not dead. Reminds me of the door— Which has remained shut and forgotten for some weeks. Cautiously, as one ready to run from oneself and claim disassociation I crack it open and peer inside. The dimly glowing eyes boor into me from the darkness. Forcing all the breath from me in a gasp. I feel the sting of ancient injuries as old blood drips from my face, hands, and legs As if they were all sustained at once. For and achingly long millisecond I am struck in her gaze. Last I knew I had left her sleeping the sleep of a thousand years Chained in the recesses by cords formed from love and blood and prayer. But awakened now, I hear her bonds creaking in the darkness, Getting ready to snap as she strains against them. What madness is this that had stirred her one more against me? For she is awake again, And hungry for the time that has elapsed since her last feeding.