Daktari

You find me in the shadowlands,
Daktari.
The spirit of the weak.
The hunger of the black eyes
wet with fear and hate.
Flesh pale as cold,
Daktari.
Don't reclaim your debt.
Stop.
Please.
Don't come near.
Don't touch at least.
I have a fetish for your death,
your fatal breath.
Stand still, here,
but don't come near,
yet.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.