My Midnight Shadow

A poem I just wrote

My Midnight Shadow

The clock slithers to midnight,

as I look down the endless dark corroded hallway.



I crunch up in my bed,

as the shadow slowly forms monstrously.



He reaches for me,

and his cold ghostly hand crawls into my heart.



Its bitter coldness burns,

like the fiery pits of hell he came from.



As the clock prowls to 5 am,

he crawls back into the corner of the corroded hallway.



Leaving me with nothing but the safety of the day,

and the memory of his cold sadistic eyes.



Watching  .  .  .  .  .  .  .