awakening to shadows,
the breathe a rotten stench
gnarled fangs that hang beneath
his upper lip
and wreak of death

his robe is pressed and neat
unlike the rags that cloth my feet
i see his teeth become a gleaming
streak of light before he feasts

i repeat he cleans his robe before
he visits me to feed
it seems the only time i see him
is when im screaming in my sleep

its not easy being greasy
or cheezy so they say
so i wear a cross beneath
my door to keep the **** away