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.