sitting upon their bay window,
they see a mysteriously movie like figure
standing on a close-to-broken roof.
they sit up abruptly,
dropping the pillows that once hugged them.
they blink 3 times
because it's always 3 times.
gone like a ghost in the wind.
what the fuck was that?
they stretch and ruffle their dog-like shaggy black hair,
finally reaching then rubbing their eyes.
how long have I been up?
they take their phone out from their back pocket.
hot as a door handle in a house aflame, they drop it.
why the fuck?
as they bend down to gather their flaming phone,
they see something surprisingly shiney submerged
in the hideously hair covered carpet.
huh? what’s that?
they lean over,
fall to their knees,
and stretch out across the
“tastefully textured carpet” as the realtor described.
after not-so gracefully grasping the object,
they pull it out from under the wooden chair where it once sat.
this thing is a block of ice. What are you doing here?
a beautifully crafted knife
sits in their hand starring quietly.
it’s a pearl in the darkness of a closed clam.
as they begin lifting the knife in one hand,
as one would do to stad another,
they see a tiny flash in their peripheral.
they turn the knife,
that was in stabbing ready position moments before
to see the revolting red substance.