In Bed With The Killer

In Bed With The Killer

The sheets remember more than I will ever say aloud,

They hold the shape of secrets hidden neatly under doubt.

A quiet breath beside me, steady as a lie,

And I pretend not to notice the danger lying by.

There is a calm in terror when it feels too close to move,

A strange acceptance growing in the things we never prove.

The night wraps tight around us, like it knows what I ignore,

And every second passes like a step toward something more.

I study every shadow cast upon the bedroom wall,

Each flicker feels like warning, though I answer none at all.

The silence speaks in volumes, louder than a scream,

And I am caught somewhere between waking and a dream.

You turn as if you know me, though I barely know your name,

There is something in your stillness that unsettles me the same.

A presence cold and certain, with no need to explain,

The kind that leaves a mark you never fully can contain.

I lie here without moving, afraid to break the spell,

Because the truth I fear might be the one I know too well.

Sometimes the darkest danger is the one we let remain,

A quiet, breathing stranger that we welcome all the same.

Morning never saves you when the night has made its claim,

It only shows the damage and refuses you the blame.

And as the daylight settles where the shadows used to creep,

I realise the killer never truly had to sleep.

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