The gnashing of teeth
rings metallic in my ears
and the claws on the pavement
scrape like bone behind me.
I am sure that my chest
is going to combust,
but as of their own volition,
my legs keep pumping,
and I keep running.

They have hunted me
for years, these hounds.
And the farther I run,
the more furiously
they pursue,
licking their lips and
smacking their tongues.

They are made of shadow
and my own brand of darkness,
and when they snarl at me,
low growls ripping out of
monstrous chests,
the sound is a chorus
of “you will never be enough”
and “you are already too much.”

The whites of their eyes
are yellowed
like Pestillence,
their maws dripping red,
my red,
from every scar
on my arms and thighs
and they know
that help will never come
because
I am too afraid
to yell for it.

So I keep running
while they snap at my heels,
a little closer every time.
One day,
I will succumb
and they will take me,
but for now,
I will steel myself
and run.