You left your back gate unlatched,
when you took out the recycling.
Even if you locked it, wood gates
and fences don't stop me.
I'm in your backyard now,
peering into your child's
bedroom, watching the slow
rise and fall of the sheets.
You think you're safe.
You think you're in control.
But you're wrong. Just you
wait until I show you how.
* * * * *
This poem was written in response to day ten's prompt to write a horror poem over at Poetic Asides.
This also works as the day number three prompt over at ReadWritePoem to "write about something that scares you."