Metaphorical

A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. 
A chill drifts through the air. 
This beast, 
It breathes just out of sight 
And grips your mind with fear. 
A choking odor of fresh blood 
Lingers on it claws. 
This fiend, 
It sits and waits in silence 
To prey upon your flaws. 
The empty holes you call your eyes 
Might roll back in your head. 
This freak, 
It sees what makes you tick, 
And infects your soul with dread. 
You scream and thrash and struggle 
To break free its strangling ties. 
This brute, 
It knows you act in vain; 
A true monster never dies.

A True Monster