5 August 2012
Icicles tingle down my spine.
Reflection in mirror, isn’t mine.
Entangled in cobwebs, taste of decay.
Smell of pipe smoke, starting to pray.
Hide from shadows, was that breath on my neck?
Whispered questions, corners to check.
Peer into blackness to see the unseen.
Creak of floorboards where others have been.
Jump at warm contact, swat at a gnat
At last find the light switch and swear at the cat.
Attic Room • Opuss № I