Bird of Prey

It’s chasing me, talons glinting in my peripheral vision, ready to rip off my scalp, expose my brain and turn it into mush so I’m blind and go about groping, lashing out to find my way. My shield against this attack is paper thin. Though I try to bulk it up with the kindness of others, there are not many entries on that page, not much to cover the wounds festering in my soul that call the enemy to stalk me.
Solace is hard to come by when on my darkest days, I’m surrounded by the beast’s minions, picking at my scabs with small jabs of judgement, giving me sideways looks of disdain. Is it my hair naturally messy or maybe greasy flat? Is it my backpack looking like it’s brought me through a jungle? It has and it does. It could just be that I’m obviously not with someone, collapsed into a vinyl cushioned chair, nose in a book, not making eye contact with another human.
I don’t know but there it is, the great shadow hovering over me, and the flock of his helpers badgering me, breaking down my defenses so I can be eaten alive by bitterness.

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