Sometimes I feel restless,
especially when I am alone,
it is the object of my stress,
there are no longer any feelings of home.

Sometimes at night,
I hear scratching at my door,
when I investigate all is right,
not a thing out of place.

Sometimes I feel claustrophobic,
the walls close in around me,
I shake this feeling off,
but cannot escape the seeping of dread.

I think I am paranoid,
slowly losing my grip,
my mind,
at wit's end.

There came a knocking at my cellar door,
impossible,
what for?

Thunder crashes,
vibrations ring through my hall,
lightning flashes overhead,
I shudder at its pall.

The storm rages on,
shattering glass and vase alike,
splintering doorways with its might,
no more can I pleasantly scoff.

The knocking comes again from below,
I fear I must investigate,
sadly I am no hero,
but still I must go,
despite enervation.

*The poor man never arrived at his station last night,
friends reported stories of his paranoia,
they sincerely hope he is alright,
nothing amiss at his residence,
but no man to be found.