A figure lurks in the shadows,
its gaze fixed on me,
expectant
hungry
lifeless.
As I walk on the narrow path
of life – unaware at first,
I feel its presence
slowing my steps with unseen weight
like stones filling my pockets underwater.
The sun dims when its near,
colours leaching from the world.
I want to run,
but the path narrows,
thins to a tightrope beneath me.
The figure waits
forever patient,
sometimes distant as mountains,
sometimes close as my own shadow.
It grabs the coattails
of my existence,
clawing its way closer
with each heartbeat,
each exhale,
each moment of forgetting.
Until I can feel
its breath
on my neck.
It whispers in the voice I know too well,
murmurs dressed as memory,
lullabies of failure,
groans of what might have been.
I do not turn,
But I know it waits.
A figure lurks in the shadows,
Still, I walk on.
I have places to go
Before it takes me.
This poem explores the quiet weight of mortality, regret, and inner resistance.
