Fear was sitting on the couch as I crept down the stairs.
I chased it away.
In the night when looking at the slightly cracked door
I see the faces and the shadows of what will never show up.
At least not fully, only in the half dream/half sleep format.
If it rains buckets and lightning claps we still miss the face.
We assume the worst thing we could see would be unworldly
disfigured afterlife.
I only see the human and its deceit
sitting on my fear wanting to exploit me.
Looking at my pictures, rifling through my hours.
We are killers who
sit in the dark and wait, no matter how prepared we seem
The fear and the rotten among us lurk.