Gift of Sickness

I want your sickness.

You see, I spend my time here, each hour of the day and night, I sit in the shadows just to watch.

I study your every move.

I know your routine well, in fact. You wake up each night at 03:00, still shuddering from a nightmare, and drag your tired body to the washroom. It gives me such a thrill, this routine, because what you don’t know is that it’s not a nightmare.

I am, in fact, only inches away from you.

My skinless hand caresses your cheek, I tilt my head to breathe in the warm scent of your neck, the rush of blood pulsing through your fragile veins filling my ears.

I press my cold lips to yours, and it isn’t long now before you’ll wake up, as you do each night.

I crawl back across your sheets, and hide away before you see me.

Yes, I can see you’ve awakened now, a coughing fit convulsing through your body.

A spray of red, a drained expression, you don’t have much time left.

Soon you’ll be mine to do with as I please.

As you collapse onto the mattress, I step out. I stand over you. You just stare with glazed eyes. My face rips open into a wide smile, just for you.

Blood pouring from every crack and crevice of your broken body.

I feel so whole now.

To wrap myself with something of yours.

I inhale deeply again, breathing in your lovely, sweet sickness.