There's that thing, you know, when you see something in the corner of your eye,
[in the back of your mind]
and just for a second you thought you heard the whisper of a tatterdemalion.
[the, screaming, it doesn't stop]
And so you turn, and when you look, there's nothing there.
[the unending shadow, breathing on your neck]
Yet again, you met the man who wasn't there,
[the footsteps, creaking towards you, those stairs, those damned stairs]
and, of course, he wasn't there again yesterday
[yesterday? I can't quite remember . . . was there blood? I think, a sea of blood? No, don't make me go back, not to yesterday].
And so you turn, back to the comfort of ignorance, the smell of coffee in your nose
[did I turn my back? Why is there the smell of iron and copper in my nose?].
And around you, the silence of your house.