The Phantom Killed Me Again
Sliced open my abdomen,
And let my guts fall out.
I fell to the alley floor,
My ass hitting the hard concrete,
And the beast stood over me.
12-feet-tall,
Like a piece of black cloth,
Stretched out,
Until it towered over me.
A pair of red glowing orbs,
Sit where eyes would be,
Were it human.
Long skinny arms,
Hang on his sides,
Ending in blood-stained claws.
I collect my innards,
Haphazardly stuffing them,
Back into my open wound,
And holding them in with my left arm.
Tried to push myself up with my shaking right arm,
Too weak,
Collapse after one try.
Blood-stained claws reach under my armpits,
And pull me to my feet.
I turn to look at the red eyes,
Of The Phantom,
Then begin to walk down the alleyway,
To the hospital.
Do you need help?
I’m Fine.
The Phantom stares at me,
Tilting its head.
Why do you keep fighting me?
I don’t like that you exist.
I don’t like that you hurt people.
I don’t like that you hurt me.
It doesn’t have to be this bad.
He points to the gash,
On my torso,
At the guts covered in dirt,
And glass,
And papers,
And everything else,
That clings to concrete streets.
Let me roam as I please,
Haunt as I please,
Slither into the dreams,
Of you and those you love,
Infect you with my presence,
Squeeze you in my grasp,
For no matter how much you hate me,
Fighting me,
Only hurts you more.
My bleeding abdomen interjects,
He has a point.
But my heart,
Feels something,
It tells my eyes,
And they wander to a spot,
On that shadowy form,
A spot just under,
Those red eyes.
A tiny slit,
That I’d never seen before,
Dripping,
With something wet,
And red.
I made you bleed.
The phantom is silent.
You are not God,
You’re not even the Devil,
You are nothing,
Except what I allow you to be,
What I let exist,
As I stand by and do nothing,
And every time we fight,
You get,
Just a little weaker,
Just a little smaller,
Just a tiny bit,
Less Powerful,
Every time we fight,
My body feels the sting of defeat,
And the anguish of mutilation,
But my mind feels nothing but joy,
At the pain I inflict on you.
You are not God,
You’re not even the Devil,
You are nothing,
And one day,
You will fall at my feet,
The life slowly leaving,
Your shadowy form,
And I will stand there,
Bloody,
Bruised,
Perhaps near-death as well,
Swelling with a triumph,
That I’ve never known.
The Phantom stares at me,
Says nothing,
He’s always had a great poker face.
I turn,
And limp to the hospital.
