I feel like
there’s someone
watching me.
The Mylar balloon
that you got me
(for Valentine’s Day)
moves across my room,
but there is no breeze.
Phrases keep popping
into my head.
Don’t look out the window;
He will come for you.
I close my eyes
and a faceless man
haunts my vision.
No matter how far I run,
he says,
he says it’s useless.
I draw my shades back,
and if I squint,
I can see
him, a faceless man
adorned in a simple suit
standing in my backyard,
(among the trees)
waiting.

We will come soon.
The Prophet.
The Harbringer.
The Proxy.
The Shaman.
We will come soon.