At 3am the world renders itself as a
.                With no clear edges
.                Molasses that slows steps
.                Muffles any
.                                Sound
.                Makes it
.                                                Hard to

.                                Place
.                Your footsteps seem distant
Trailing you
.                                As though somewhere not far back
You were being followed.

.                So you speed up
.                                Maybe you take a headphone out
.                                Maybe that will settle your nerves
.                Maybe for a while it does
.                But
Warm breath on the back of your neck
Whips your head around
The mist swirls and you see
.                                                                                                                                Nothing
.                Shake it off
.                You say but         your steps           lengthen
You hear it again
Clicking steps
.                Matching             your                     own
Never far behind
You spin and stop

Secrets in the mist           that        the
.                Weak    lamps    fail          to            light
.                Nearly home
.                                                                                                You can see your house in the distance
.                                                                                A hazy shape
But its
Breathing in your ear
Can almost feels its arms
Grabbing your bag
Dragging you away from
.                                                                                                                Safety
.                                Fumble for keys

.                                                Go faster
Its on the path behind you
.                                You open the door
Running now
.                                Slam it shut
The mist strokes the glass, begging to be let in.


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