Set upon haunches he perches
awaiting his next victim,
unsuspecting the trap
that can only be set within chaos,
the trickster knows his target
and chooses carefully.
I always seem to fall prey,
the sands of time
know the weaknesses I carry
and seek to extort from them
a perverse glory,
unlike any they have known
before or since. It is my fault.
I am not strong enough to
resist the trap.
Faded grey clouds my eyes,
and I rely on my hearing,
my smell, to alert me
to the danger that waits
beyond my field of view.
Running is not an option.
I must make it through
to another day.
No matter the cost.
Giving up leads
only to death.
The hair on the back of my neck alerts.
I have known for some time
that he was coming,
seeking to push me to the edge,
yet not over, as that
would rob him of his meal.
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