The Dark Man

 

the dark man follows me
through the streets
back to work
visiting friends
going home
he’s always there
I can feel him
but he’s quick
and he’s canny
never lets me catch him full sight
just a shadow movement
he does things
awful things
that nobody else can see
I cant stop him
but somehow
somehow
I always know
I could try to stop him
I would try
but he’s quick
and he’s canny
I caught a glimpse of him once
in the sliver of a window
he looked just like me

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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