An amorphous black blob sits.
Just at the corner of my eye, it
moves and breathes.
Occasional jerk and
eerie gait;
I wonder whose life it’ll take.
By day, a woman
bent over her sink
inspecting the holes in her skin.
A thorough bath,
a black sheet to dry herself,
and here we are again.
At night, again,
the amorphous blob sits.
And at the corner of my eye, it
moves and breathes.