Footsteps

Cleaning out my filing cabinet last night, I stumbled upon yet ANOTHER half-filled journal. Man, people…STOP LETTING ME NEAR THE STATIONERY UNSUPERVISED!

Anyways, this one has another poem! I wrote it when I was nineteen years old, sitting in the kitchen of the very first apartment that I lived in alone. I actually remember writing it. No, that’s a lie, but I do remember writing other things in the book. Here it is. 

Footsteps

Trace the footsteps up the wall

Barely even heard them fall

But I still could smell them there

The scent of evil in the air.

Breathe it in, it tastes like hate

Murder lingers in this place.

Someone died here long ago.

Did I just see….yes, the room has grown!

The ceiling’s dripping blood on me

The walls are leaking, this can’t be!

I cannot die here, not tonight

I cannot die, this can’t be right!

And as the blood is choking me

As my final breath I breathe

One can hear my gurgled plea

“I cannot die here…Please help me!”

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