THE RED ROOM
Smoky
haze seems to follow me,
Lights bouncing off shadowed halls.
Sounds of creaking boards from up above.
Glimpses
of reflections in mirrors
That are not mine.
Losing things and finding them
In places they have never gone.
Something
is moving in the red room
That makes my hair stand on end.
Whispering sounds of rustling silk
Touching my skin.
What
could it be that gives me the chills,
And suddenly appears and disappears?
Eerie screams in the pitch dark woods
Late at night,
Dogs howling when there is nothing in sight.
Could
this place be haunted?
Should I stay or should I go?
Whatever it is, seems to always leave
At the break of day.
Something
is touching my hair
But no one is standing there.
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