an unknown presence twists my closet door knob
doing what I had so intended for myself
a friendly mimic resides, feasting on my starts
I turn back and the pillows have all shifted slightly
perhaps the nymphs who go through my unworn jewelry
wanted to cause a stir
every day, new handwriting appears upon my whiteboard
who knew a dragon's tongue could twist in such ways
to form beautiful script each day?
my books fall, words down, for the ghost cat likes to visit on Fridays, when her past mother has Bridge night.
sometimes I leave an empty bowl for it
perhaps the monsters under our beds are
only there because they need a friend.
submitted by anonymous
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