In this empty house
when no one else is present
something stirs within,
a frightening sense of terror.
Wondering what lies
on the other side of the front door.
It’s the quite that frightens
me the most;
I guess it’s because I’ve grown up hearing
the screams from tortured angel.
So much so
that it resembles a lullaby.
I try to lock Loneliness out
when I sleep,
praying I don’t hear him tapping on my door.
He is what I fear more than my mortality.
He is colder than death’s icy grip;
no remorse lies within his eyes.
He is uninvited,
but still I hear him
from time to time
rapping and tapping at my door.
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