Internal II (wanderer)

there is someone wandering around
on the inside of my 
head 
she and i are not the same
and she often wishes I were 
dead 

she whistles haunting tunes, a sickly sweet 
into my 
               ear,
a restless hum of seething rage 
to fill my veins with 
endless fear

she bids the sorrow that wears me
thin, 
the curtains veiling a hollow
skin,            (a shell of a girl)
one day closer to the eventual 
end, 
and i know, she will be the very last friend
i ever see


~ A. L. Stippich