There are dead things in my attic,
That play jump rope with cobwebs
And bounce on old furniture
Just to make the springs creak.
I can hear them at night and during the day,
Even when I'm asleep,
Scratching at the floorboards in my head,
To remind me they're still waiting,
And that they're always hungry.
YOU ARE READING
TEDDY BEAR HEADS
HorreurThis collection of dark poetry and flash fiction wants you to come and play. After all, even the things that live in the dark get lonely . . .
