Breath, huff. Yes this word, huff.
You are out in this darkness with me. The still looming trees, the shadows, a snapping twig. I watch you stand in the light, trying to not think about scary movies and bears.
I wait as you stop searching in the dark, peering for danger. Your panoramic hunt for the boogey slows, you head settles back to front, and then I huff.
Huff deep, hard and big, you stagger back and quiver, rattling fear. It shakes through every hole in your face.
And like the monster in the dark that I am, My chest fills, I grow another inch, longer teeth, a dirtier, amused evil.
Welcome to my back yard.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
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