poem
Wear Shadows Wait
(the house keeps receipts)
Last night, I tried to fall asleep, but suddenly, I heard creaks from the floorboard.
In my half-sleep state, I closed my eyes just in time to hear the faintest hint of laughter.
Time distorted, so I’m unsure if this came before or after.
I picked up my phone and hit the button to record—I guess it’s time to explore.
Keeping my footsteps light, I try to see, but in the dark, I lose my sight.
Not sure if I should run or if I should prepare to fight.
Time felt like an illusion; am I wandering through the early morning or the dead of night?
With shaking breaths, I brace myself—something here isn’t right.
I stand beside the wall, allowing it to assist in holding me upright.
In my head, a whispered prayer loops, playing on repeat as I fight.
Is this the moment? Is this where I meet my demise? Is this where I accept defeat?
In the stillness of the air, all I can feel is the pounding drum of my heartbeat.
I close my eyes, hold my breath, then count to three—throwing myself forward at full speed.
Around the corner, I half expect my eyes and another pair to meet.
Or maybe a half-assed wave, a smirk, some twisted game from a creep.
But all I find is a couch, draped in a plain white sheet.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I hear it again—the sound of softly padding feet.
I stand stiff as a board, my eyes adjusting as I force another visual sweep.
Shaking with adrenaline, I remind myself—don’t move, don’t make a peep.
With each passing second, the air thickens, the heat turning up degree by degree.
More seconds pass me by—a decision has to be made, no more time to ask why.
With uncertain steps, I turn the corner again, but this time, I’m met with my own sigh.
Everything is still, the silence pressing in, thick enough to swallow the room whole.
And then I notice the old clock on the wall—its hands stuck at the very second I stepped inside.
It’s at this moment that I have to choose—to fight or to hide.
The questions posed may have had parameters that were set too high.
But I steady my breath, plant my feet—whatever this is, I refuse to abide.
If the clock wants to hold me hostage, then I’ll be the one to decide.
Maybe the question was never fight or flight, but to comply or to defy.
Years passing me by with shadows dancing along the walls—ghosts I can no longer deny.
Energy trapped in a room from history that passed in the blink of a sleepy eye,
And in this realization, the house went quiet after the soft whisper of unspoken goodbyes.
In my half-sleep state, I closed my eyes just in time to hear the faintest hint of laughter.
Time distorted, so I’m unsure if this came before or after.
I picked up my phone and hit the button to record—I guess it’s time to explore.
Keeping my footsteps light, I try to see, but in the dark, I lose my sight.
Not sure if I should run or if I should prepare to fight.
Time felt like an illusion; am I wandering through the early morning or the dead of night?
With shaking breaths, I brace myself—something here isn’t right.
I stand beside the wall, allowing it to assist in holding me upright.
In my head, a whispered prayer loops, playing on repeat as I fight.
Is this the moment? Is this where I meet my demise? Is this where I accept defeat?
In the stillness of the air, all I can feel is the pounding drum of my heartbeat.
I close my eyes, hold my breath, then count to three—throwing myself forward at full speed.
Around the corner, I half expect my eyes and another pair to meet.
Or maybe a half-assed wave, a smirk, some twisted game from a creep.
But all I find is a couch, draped in a plain white sheet.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I hear it again—the sound of softly padding feet.
I stand stiff as a board, my eyes adjusting as I force another visual sweep.
Shaking with adrenaline, I remind myself—don’t move, don’t make a peep.
With each passing second, the air thickens, the heat turning up degree by degree.
More seconds pass me by—a decision has to be made, no more time to ask why.
With uncertain steps, I turn the corner again, but this time, I’m met with my own sigh.
Everything is still, the silence pressing in, thick enough to swallow the room whole.
And then I notice the old clock on the wall—its hands stuck at the very second I stepped inside.
It’s at this moment that I have to choose—to fight or to hide.
The questions posed may have had parameters that were set too high.
But I steady my breath, plant my feet—whatever this is, I refuse to abide.
If the clock wants to hold me hostage, then I’ll be the one to decide.
Maybe the question was never fight or flight, but to comply or to defy.
Years passing me by with shadows dancing along the walls—ghosts I can no longer deny.
Energy trapped in a room from history that passed in the blink of a sleepy eye,
And in this realization, the house went quiet after the soft whisper of unspoken goodbyes.