A/n- September 4th, 2007

Summary: moar poems!!

From Prose

He stood like that; stalk still
Over his shoulder the door swiftly closed
The snap of the wood; sending a rush of cold wind
The rustling ceased

In the wake, silence bloomed.

A nervous tick nestled deep within his consciousness.

His hand was fixed on the next handle.

Breathing.

The air was damp, smelling of heavy earth and rot
It felt of cobwebs, the brushing of them backwards
A sticky feeling on his fingertips

Television.

In the next room, wavelengths rebounded
Static in his ears

fin