R.L. Stine, I Blame You
There was a spider in the shower.
He was just hanging out in the corner,
lounging around.
Or maybe
she was sitting
with her eggs in her little sac.
I didn’t want to splash her with water
because then she might move
and the eggs might hatch,
then the ceiling would be covered with
itty
bitty
baby
black
spiders.
I just didn’t want to take the chance.
The presence of that spider
made me itch
and I felt dirty, even though I scrubbed my skin hard
with soap
just moments before.
He reminds me of
the imaginary, invisible, non-existent
snake
that lays by my feet, under my covers
while I sleep at night.
Ugh.
Why do I read scary books before bed?
They wake up my deepest fears,
remind me that the night is
a mystery even Nancy Drew can’t solve.
YOU ARE READING
On The Brink
PoesieThis is a compilation of things I've written aside from stories. It will mostly be short stories and poetry, possibly some rants because I do rant and complain a lot. Welp, enjoy! Let me know what you think!
