Something

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There is something

Pacing the floors

The boards creek

The hinges rattle

And there is screeching

From closed doors.

There is something

Standing in the corner

Growing increasingly impatient

Watching and waiting

Focused in your direction

The empty eyes of another.

There is something

In the shadows

Where it came from

No one knows

On your way home

I think it followed.

There is something

Beneath your bed

Inhaling your exhalation

Intoxicated by your fear

Straggly curling fingers

Bushing along your hair.

Something I earlier

Could have shared

It waits till midnight

To claim what is his

You could kill it

But it’s already dead.

Olsfred James 2013©