It stalks the shadows, inky and blasting black.
It crawls on eight legs, ready to bite back.
It slithers and slinks, venomous and dangerous.
It is the needle in your skin.
It burns bright red, liquid yet life giving.
It looks at you with a thousand pairs of eyes,
eyes that stare straight through your soul.
It is all over, microscopic and unsanitary.
It laughs at you under bright face paint and grins.
It scars the sky with its luminous flash of light,
and its echoing sound drones out all others who might.
It is everywhere and anywhere, in high places and low.
In small spaces and large places.
It’s its own joke, for it does not exist,
it is trapped in your head, the Master of Illusion,
is fear itself.