There is a terrible, terrible thought in my mind.
And it doesn’t act like a terrible thing.
It doesn’t jump or scream or run it’s spindly nails down the inside of my skull.
It sits, silent and solid in a corner. And it watches. And it waits.
It catches my eyes every now and then and I try to glance away quickly.
After all I have no ill wishes. I’ve never been malicious.
The terrible thought grew in a garden of terrible words, terrible weeds.
And it rattles when it breathes. And it pops its knuckles in the quiet.
And it watches. And it waits.
And it promises, “You will regret me. One day, you will regret me.
And it will be so delicious.”