A pine tree scratches on the roof, echoes in the night,
Snow blankets the cabin, but my mind is full of fright,
Every whisper of the wind sends panic through my veins,
Is it them waiting in the dark, or just my restless brain?
At the ski race finish, I scan the crowd with fear,
Faces blur into one mass, laughter feels insincere,
Are they lurking in the shadows, eyes fixed on my face,
Or is it just my imagination, turning joy into disgrace?
In the arena, surrounded by friends and cheer,
Yet I feel a heavy weight, the sense that they are near,
Is it them in the stands, plotting with a grin,
Or just the shadow of my worry, digging deep within?
Shopping for groceries, I push my cart with dread,
A neighbor greets me kindly, but my heart races instead,
Is it them saying good morning, or just a friendly face?
Every glance feels suspicious, leaving no safe space.
Life rolls on around me, but I feel stuck in place,
Waves of anxiety crash, stealing my sense of grace,
Searching for solace from stalking in familiar daily scenes,
But the toll of scratches on the roof haunts my life.