domingo, 19 de maio de 2013

The cold touch of a ghost

In bed trying to sleep
The empty house makes tapping noises
Darkness and cool air
turning around in bed

Visions of the grey blue unidentified spectre
Then the hand of something icy on my shoulder
Distant whispers
yet no fear have I found

I turn face first into the spirit
I howl and the horrific frustration leaks out
The coldness disappears
I slip into REM

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