The Man That Stands at my Door
The night was dark,
But he was darker.
The room was cold,
But he was colder.
He simply stood at the door,
Black, impossibly
Black, sickeningly
Black with beady
Eyes like holes
Sunken into his face.
Any remnant of light-
The porch lights of the house across the street,
The stars,
The waning moonlight-
Were all absorbed into him
Where he diffused them, and rendered them
Mute.
He choked out the distant
Sound of the television from the night
Residing of my parents.
He stood still, and
I laid still.
Him transfixed, fascinated
by my human warmth.
Myself paralyzed by the stinging
Fangs of fear.
The doorway framed
His inky physique so
Twisted and shadowy.
The covers lay atop me as a
Flimsy shield as I laid still.
Impossibly still.
I knew he wouldn't be able to step in.
And yet I was still scared.
Scared of what he could do.
Scared of what I couldn't do.