The Devourer

In the old window, untouched for years,
Moonlight fades – it is not for everyone.
In the cold air hangs the invisible,
Like a whisper in the dark: “You are not alone…”

Where mold licks the faces of portraits,
Where walls have absorbed the voices of others,
Lurks the One who arrives slowly –
Without knocking, without locks, without a mortal scythe.

His shadow is like a foreign desire under the skin,
Breathing into your temple: “Surrender, do not run…”
He does not walk on feet, does not lash like a downpour –
He is merely the gloom crawling out of the darkness.

In the corner – a cobweb with eyes inside,
Blinking slowly once every century.
And the floorboard creaks not from time, but from a body
That has vanished, leaving nothing behind.

You do not know who he is. And no one will tell,
For all who have seen – have forgotten themselves.
The Devourer does not eat flesh – he dismantles consciousness,
While you disappear, and your reflection

Freezes in his pupils and crumbles into crumbs.
“When darkness creeps into your room –
Do not think, do not believe it is only a dream.
For I never come to the dead:
I seek… the living.”