The abandoned building was my babysitter

 I'm back here in the organized dark corridor
There is the carcass of a machine pre 1950s
The dead lightbulbs haven't been replaced
So the darkness is almost pitch black

The slight glow comes from thirty meters behind me
I suddenly question myself about why I might be headed into darkness
I turn back from the layers of unknown the welling fear haemorrhaging
I reach the junction and turn into an office entrance with a glass door

Here the light has the same tone and exuberance of daylight
But it isn't daylight it is some comforting substitute
It still doesn't illuminate the short entrance space
Darkness coming from the corridor is violent, shameless 

Antique desk cabinets on either side my curiosity spikes
I awoke something ugly up in the corridor, it approaches
I am petrified forcing the handle of the glass door
The inside looks like a safe place for me to be

The door won't budge and my hand jarrs 
wrist pain reaches grave fear and they blend in my veins
The mixture beoming heavy and bitter shooting around
I crawl under the antique desk drawer trembling shaking

If I call for my mother or father the thing out there will hear
The silence feels like a maddening wet blanket choking me
But I can feel the thing approach strange in it's cold breeze
I look through the glass door and realize safety is not a right I have