Did you get the message I sent?
The hairs on your neck
will tell you...

It boils
like rats trapped
in a drum.
Coils,
in the dark
like an asp.

Found it?
Look under your bed,
the closet,
the crawlspace.

Its teeth
rust for YOUR flesh.

This is the toy
you gave me.

Now,
I'm giving it
back.
It is the void
that rings
the nightlight
and what waits within it.
The door that slams shut
when you know you are alone.
The creak of floorboards
in an empty room.
Beetles scrabbling through
dead leaves.
Faces that leer and vanish.
Sudden storms shrieking through
cranial corridors.

Fear that blossoms like nightshade,
pools like blood on wet stone,
grinds like shrapnel against bone,
swivels your skull on its axis.

Think of it as a fat spider
hanging over your bed,
spinning in the dark.

Index


© 1998 Leslie Laurence