Writhing, spectral in the cloying mist,
Icy claws scratching at the windowpane
Quick, sharp wit and sharper teeth,
Burning from the inside out
They can’t get in.
Turn your back, you leave me grappling
With my own disastrous urge to
Wash myself away.
Someone take my hand and lead me
Far away from the path of justiceAnd stifle my pitiful cries for aid.