Sometimes
This little shadow
Creeps in through
The blinds at night
And searches through
My cupboards,
The ones that hide
Those kinds of things
I choose not to find,

And it makes
Such a racket,
That ghost of mine.
It just digs and
Scratches tiny
Holes in my mind.

Then I'm so distracted;
Plugging holes,
Closing cabinets inside
My head,
Set on dispatching
This shadow that's acting
Out every bad thing that's
Happened.

The disarming
Tactics
And dastardly
Antics of that
Shadowy *******
Are
Finally
Retracted

With a ringing,

From a dreadful
Machine on
My nightstand.