The Hollow of Breath

The racing of a heart, still
apprehensive in its dawn.
The steeling of a will,
a soul, inside, is torn.

The indomitable, unsurpassable, 
most daunting of all horrors. 
Too close to ever evade -
The Mind.

My conjurer, my personal demon.
Bone deep power.
How it creates that which none have ever seen
in the flesh,
is the true terror.

It threads through the heart of all peoples,
feeding their imagination,
seeping into an ink-black room,
a figment of air and dust.

A momentary pause,
a pulse unstoppable.
What lies in the darkness, 
how many, how large?

Visitor beneath the skin.
My heart trembles,
ribs shaking, 
blood thin and weak.

The hollow of breath
before an invisible strike.
Gritted teeth and white knuckles.

Fear is the monster we create.