My monster has no face, but it stares relentlessly. It has no voice, yet it shouts louder than my thoughts can contain. There are no beating hearts or gory fangs to latch onto, but it terrifies me nonetheless. I can only wish for a typical toothy phantom.
No, my monster is a bright, ever-present light, mocking my time and eating away at my confidence. It's a taunting whisper in my mind, never-ending and sinister. My monster is a blank, expressionless void that haunts the spaces between my seconds. And the only way to beat it is to write down these words.