do you see that?
over there reflected in the window
what is that?
Behind me in the mirror
I feel hot breath on my neck
but something tells me not to turn around
it's just the warm breeze
keep going forward and don't turn around

sometimes I think I can hear it
making odd sounds that
seem hissed through a smiling mouth
if there is a mouth
I wouldn't know because
I never turn around, look under the bed
but it's in the corner of my eye
then it's gone
It hides in the horizon of my memories
in the shadows then it disappears in the light
or only hides better
but I know it's there
behind us all, waiting to lap us up
while we go about our meaningless business

the ones who do turn around, who look behind the door
we know them when we see them
but we pretend there's something wrong
something broken about them
because admitting they're right
means we have to turn around, face the thing

that's really only time itself
watching us waste it, waiting to lap us up