It's gnawing at my lungs again, and sitting on my chest, this little black gargoyle which likes to stare me dolefully in the eye as it drains me of my will. It flashes me a sharp tooth grin before resuming its feast on my happiness.
I know I should shake it off, maybe stake it through the heart, but it's always a temporary death. Always it comes crawling back to my torso and settling with its claws dug into me. I look down but see no wounds on my flesh; isn't that the worst, knowing that something's slowly killing you, but never able to show others the signs?
So I look down again, see its greedy hunger, feel the ravenous tongue and possessive claws. The glint in its eye says "tú eres mía", and I'm struck my how that proclamation rings like a death knell.