A Tap on My Shoulder

A Tap on My Shoulder

I hear it at night, in the distance, it calls to me,
A tapping, a rapping-scrapping of bone, metal, and flesh,
Nothing could. Nothing should. Make that noise.
I roll back my duvet. As I ease my toe down to the naked wooden floor.
Something moves behind the door and from down the drafty hall.
I see.

Should I look or leave it be? I ask myself as it edges near.
I close my eyes. The door opens.
It hurts to, but if I look away it won’t be real,
But I have to, so that it won’t be real.

I hear a noise unbearable, inaudible, clawing at my ears,
Did it speak?
Did it make those noises?

I can feel it, low in my breast,
Madness.
It cannot speak.
For it has no head.

Did it hurt me?
Nonsense.
That cannot be, for it to has no limbs, not a finger, nor a nail to rend,
But then, why is my blood, painted along the lofty vacant walls,
My white nightgown, a bloody shredded mess,
Splayed against a rotting, burnt, wooden floor.

Where am I now?
Preposterous.
But in the fading light of my mind I see,
My head is in a glass case,
Set upon a shield adore am I,
Among many trophies of my kind,

Am I really a trophy now?
Madness. Nonsense. Preposterous.
Light fading, limbless, speechless.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s