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Are you there?

Mr Click-Clack followed me home last night.
Follows me home every night.
Home to my abode where I lock the door,
to keep myself safe,
from Mr Click-Clack.

What does he want this Mr Click-Clack?
Why is it that he follows me?
Why does he always wait,
outside my door?
What is his raison detre?
What is he here for?

I block up my ears,
so I can’t hear,
Mr Click-Clack.
His nefarious ways, his moral decay,
the whispered promise of what he may…
I don’t want to hear the thoughts,
of Mr Click-Clack.
His sharpening of knives,
His rubbing of thighs,
Oh How I hate that man,
That Mr Click-Clack.

One day I’ll let him in,
I feel my discipline is wearing thin,
I need to know what it is that drives him
One day I’ll have to meet,
that Mr Click-Clack.

But for now I hide, beneath my bed,
Balled up rags, stuffed in my head,
To keep out the fear, of sounds I’ll hear…
Sounds…
That are only made,
By Mr Click-Clack.

Filed under: Poetry

About the Author

Posted by

Lazy Peon. Hardware Monkey. Real-ale Bore. Stupid Mick.

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