In the backrooms of your houses, under your stairs and cabinet drawers,
Around the bannisters and down long dark corridors.
Do you see them out of the corner of your mind?
Does your neck prickle, do you feel watched sometimes?
Maybe it walks, maybe it crawls, maybe it creeps on all fours.
For every child that’s grown and moved on, there’s a friend or a nightmare that’s left alone.
So they wait, they ruminate, they hide in your basements and meditate.
Perhaps you remember, perhaps you don’t.
Maybe it’s just a shadow. Maybe it leaves you alone.
Maybe it’s bored or it’s vicious and it won’t.
Tap tap away at the keys,
Those aren’t eyes, and my friends didn’t have claws.
Those aren’t fingers curling around the frame
of my bedroom door.
Photo by Jairo Alzate
For The Daily Post’s daily prompt: Hidden
Fewer or no posts until I pass the NCLEX.