Whatever you do,
Don’t…
Turn…
Around!
He’s there,
Watching.
Don’t breathe…
From the shadows,
He emerges.
Don’t…
Move…
A muscle!
He’s an ethereal spirit,
Who holds your soul
In his bony hands.
Spinning weaves
Of darkness,
His eyes
Creep into your being.
That tingle
Up your spine
Marks the proof
Of his passing.
He’s gone.
You can
Breathe easier,
For now…
And await
His next return.
Copyright May 2001 by Christopher J. Thomasson
