Genrefaction

All horror is built on distrust—
Often of people and often
Of your unreliable mind
And unreliable senses—

Shadows, disembodied voices,
Someone else’s gaze staring back
At you from your own mirrored face—
Information can’t be trusted,

Nor anyone who’s dealing it,
Especially those you trust most—
Your body shudders, distrusting
Your own, horripilant thinking—

Your thoughts distrust disgusting flesh—
It’s all a horror show, distrust,
This shadow of uncertainty—
And, just when you relax, there’s us,

Rebarbative, glaring you down,
Your own words from your mother tongue,
Coiled like whipworms, sated on you,
Slipping in and out of your skull.