Doubts

When first the things
crept into recognition
they were hard to make out.

They strode into the picture
as some valiant hero
come over the mountain
down the winding trail
and over time
to my very door.

Their very presence was
the stuff of nightmares.
Their bodies maligned
plague-ridden corpses
hidden beneath the dark cloth
of tattered black robes.

About them was
the air of self-defeat
the promise of failure
and the withering certainty
that accompanies despair.

These ghouls haunted my doorstep
watching me in every hour
awaiting my submission.
Over time I would come to
understand their purpose
their desire:

They would never
be done with me.

If I allowed them
they would
pull the air from my lungs
and hold
it just out of reach.

They would taunt
berate
and whisper the things
I would want to believe
“You were never meant
to be more than…”

In their ghastly existence
they were convinced
that they alone
held the ultimate truths
to my fate
and my submission would be
their grandest accomplishment.

Until
of course
they leached what confidence remained
from their next host
then the next.

If I allowed them.

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