The Thing

Mr. Ted by my side,
And listen hard for the thing
That crawls around outside.
He’ll start with the scratching,
It’s always the same,
His claws carving the face
Of the wooden door frame.
Then he’ll move onto the blood
Seeping beneath my door,
Dripping from the walls,
Covering the floor.
The wardrobe door will squeak,
Those green eyes appear,
Voices will whisper
Dark words in my ear.
Their dead hands will tug
At the edge of my sheets
And insects will crawl
All over my feet.
I lay and wait
For their games to begin.
But tonight will be different,
I whisper with a grin,
Tonight I will show
Those monsters a scare.
They can come back again,
IF they dare.

The Thing

CayleeSlansen

Skipton, United Kingdom

  • Artist
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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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