Poetry

The demon is knocking at my door once more
His very breath rumbles the door,
as a mist fills both my room and heart
Is this mist a manisfestation of fear itself,
Or fear beyond the treshold of fear
Fear whatever it maybe it beckons me,
My feet, to move, move and move until
My unwilling hands caress the door knob
The door knob turns when my hand turns
The door creaks as my heart creaks,
The mist settles to reveal,
To reveal a mirror reflecting
an image of
I in the darkness.