A poets Halloween...

I am the rustling cornstalks,
when their is no autumn breeze.
The footsteps not quite matching yours,
but no one else beneath the trees.

I dialed your number the other night,
you answered to a silent line.
My icy fingers touch your scalp,
just to watch the shivers climb your spine.

When you are home all by yourself,
and the cat is in your lap,
the rain and lightning start to fall
and the thunder starts to clap.

I'm the one that tips the vase upstairs
and frees the shutters to the air.
The moaning from the basement depths,
and the footsteps upstairs that shouldn't be there.

Don't wonder when you find ajar
the door you're sure you locked.
You'll know I've passed by recently,
by the chill where I've just walked.

But scarier then all of this,
as you will see in time.
I'll get into all of your notebooks
and make your poems rhyme.

MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

viva las rats