Always on My Shoulder

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The hand is always on my shoulder.

It never clears. It just stays on my shoulder.

Forevermore.

When I'm sad, it grows happy. When I join in with happiness, it goes sad.

Whenever I'm sad, the hand goes into a warm chubby state.

But when I'm happy, it goes sallow and wrinkly and skeletal.

I don't know how to get rid of the hand.

When I'm excited it goes all sarcastic.

It massages my shoulder with its overgrown pointed nails.

It breaks my skin.

And goes deeper.

And deeper.

The people at work comment on my shoulder. I fear going in the showers.

When I'm sarcastic. The hand goes all excited and jumps around.

I try to take pills to get it away. But they wear off.

And when they wear off. The hand goes angry.

When it goes angry. It does unbearable things.

So unbearable.

Too unbearable.

I can't say what it does.

But it's rubbing my shoulder right now as I write this. I feel it getting angrier.

I'm not meant to tell anyone about it's presence. Please God save me.

Oh well. I think I might take it's unbearable anger now.

Too unbearable.

Goodbye.