scratching at the windowpane,
wanting to come in.
already so dismal,
but not quite that dim.
in need of a rest,
perhaps on a billowy chair.
but truly's there's none.
not around- anywhere.
vanishing from sight,
it's attempted and been defeated
tomorrow it comes again,
to reclaim, to repeat it.
prying the windowpane,
it's being let in
it has nothing to gain,
but surely it won't win?
inside the house now,
looking for your location
it will soon find you
by any means of transportation
how tired it is,
a parasite without a host
but it knows it will find you,
that's the one thing it boasts.
it is coming closer now,
whispering in your ear,
trembling now so heavily,
this thing's called FEAR.
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