Tickle on the shoulder
A whisper on the air
The air is getting colder
A shadow moving there
Tapping on the window
Creaking underneath
Clutching close the pillow
The chattering of teeth
In a moment soon
The room will clear
But not the fear.
What Paranoia?
Categories: Art, Poetry
themischiefmemoirs 
You know what they say–just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.
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sometimes I tell myself, “I know you’re reading my thoughts.” Not because I think people are reading my thoughts but, well, just in case.
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