I would not call it friend, this fear that knows me so well.
It addresses me with unsettling intimacy, calls me by names
which no one else knows in a hissed whisper which sets skin
to crawling. It keeps pace with me, a reminder behind every
revelation of how much more I could lose, how much he's yet
to take. In its desolate perfection, it reminds me how much
is already gone. I know it has been more constant than kin,
yet I could not call it friend. For all that it knows those
pitted places inside me where the darkness once licked, for
all that it pretends to care, as if it only ever meant to
protect -- I know far too well where it has already lead,
too well how far I have left to go before I can truly rest.
It is my constant companion. I would never call it friend.
4/28/2018