Crashing outside the bedroom door
at the end of the hall
Scratching like nails on your front door
awakens you in sweat

Mormons, Witnesses, maybe Catholics

In silence the lump in your throat grows
Chokes your pulse stone cold in your arm as you throw your gaze at the window

Oh. . .
The moon's out.

Crashing into your living room
with the sound of moisture
Mashing pulp feet to your bedroom
to the speed of your heart

Beat increasing to keep from screaming
Meaning well with your gun as you reach for it, gasping, swallowing spit

Oh. . .
Two eyes flash.
Two more.
Two more.
Two more.
More and more.

Give
me any face in shade
emerging but the
flesh rot, putrid
stare of the
ones who
followed
death
and
in death return to night.

Tonight.