It once again has begun.
Upon me fully, all at once, without warning.
Though I should have known,
I should have been ready.
It happens again;
at the same time,
in the same way,
with the same sickening dread.

But I fear this year, this season,
this one may be my last.

It feels cold and indifferent, as if the chill that suddenly breaks down my bones,
could care less about my thoughts or feelings.
Not even enough to allow me to respond.
Upon me so swiftly and with such force that my will has simply forgotten (or is it too tired?),
to respond – to fight.

Can an entity, a poison, an infection, really want retribution?
And retributive for what reason?
Is there vengeance within certain seasons?
Reserved as some form of targeted justice toward a specific person?
And vengeful because of what?
Justice from what transgression?

Or is it more insidious than simple revenge or punishment?
Can a contagion possibly possess evil?
Having no other motive or cause than the desire, the need,
to inflict pain or misery?

Have I come under the spell of some infected entity?
A creature devoid of body,
possessed by some crude drive to obliterate,
to destroy, to torment and afflict.

Certainly, there is a pattern,
there’s been a progression,
an escalation, from month to month.




There has been a quantity of peril required for me to face.
A demand, increasing each season,
almost quota-like, and extracted from me,
in order to survive and still be alive.

Does not pattern, progression and escalation indicate intent?
Doesn’t intent presuppose a will to intend with?
And if it be true that this will of evil,
returns only at recurrent, selective times,
then the possibility of some type of animus being ascribed to this time
is apt and portentous, it is willful.

Only now, upon sensing the kill,
does it fully reveal its true nature.
No longer even caring to disguise itself.
Bold, like a predator seeing its prey,
wounded and helpless,
it stands revealed in front of me,
sneering openly.

Who out there can be so brave
to flee from its growing decay?
How many could be wise enough
To avert its unsightly gaze?

It’s here – It’s upon me,
I sense its scorching appearance,
Its chilling presence, Its endless death.