Behind the Eyes

I've seen it, behind my eyes in the mirror.  People think it's metaphorical, or... or metaphysical. But it's real.  It's a thing.  It's living inside me.  Feeding on me.

I've watched it slither past the back of my eyes and down my throat, settling in my gut like a bad date or an embarrassing memory.  But I know what it is. I know what it wants.

It's killing me, and I have to figure out how to kill it first.

But how can you kill something so ingrained, so... at home.  It's not likely to starve in you, is it?  No... it feeds on failure, and you are the eternal spring of that.  Besides, if it has grown fat on your failure... do you really think you could ever succeed in getting rid of it?

Yes, damnit.  I won't let it take me over.  I won't let this... thing... run my life.  I'm not some host to... whatever it is. Even if, even if no-one believes me.  No one will help me.  Because they think I'm crazy.  That's fine.  That's fair.  I wouldn't believe me.  I... I'm not sure if I still believe me.  What if it is all in my head?  What if... what if it's just... me...

What if it's just my imagination?

So I stare into the mirror, waiting, watching for it to move.  Watching in the space behind my eyes, hoping to god to see a horror I wish I could forget.

Please don't let me be crazy.