A Basement of Shadows

There’s a man in my basement.

He lives in the shadows beneath the stairs and whispers to me as I do my laundry. Most days, I can ignore him. However, on nights when the stars are dull and life seemed meaningless, he gets to me.

“What’s the point of living?” He’d ask me, and his voice fluttered the cobwebs of my mind.

What was the point of living? Did I know? Did he? Were we born to be drones, to live and work and die for the glory of others? Or do we have an individual purpose?

I didn’t know.

There’s a man in my basement.

He lives in the shadows beneath the stairs and watches my every move. I feel his eyes on me- It raises the tiny hairs on my neck and sends goosebumps up my spine, but I do my best to ignore it.

Maybe someday, when I’m tired of fighting this endless battle of life, I’ll let him see who I really am.

But not today.

There’s a man in my basement.

He lives in the shadows beneath the stairs and hangs on my every word. He hears the secrets and desires I whisper in my times of loneliness when there’s no one to talk to but the darkness.

Someday, I will regret telling him.

There’s a man in my basement.

He lives in the shadows beneath the stairs and waits for me, hoping I’ll give in to his suggestions. He is patient- time has no meaning for him, and he’ll use that to his advantage.

He’ll wear me down, probing my soul until I’m too weak to resist.

Then, he’ll make his move.

There’s a man in my basement, and he wants me to finish his work.

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