The Ghoul Behind the Door

Who can leave a room of fear
Under a ghoul's watchful leer
And upon return, cannot see
The shadow of his murderer to be.

The eyes of red in pitch of black
Watchful as he turns his back
Ghoul's eyes he cannot see
Ghoul's eyes, his murderer to be.

Sorrow, like a bug to him
He kills with whit, in rage, on whim
Trembling mirth, boy cannot see
He cannot see his murderer to be.

Grace like that of a devilish cat
As he glides across the mat
boy cannot feel its warm, sour breath,
boy cannot see his inevitable death.

Hands are ready, crooked grin
Foul as a garbage bin
Boy's asleep, he cannot see,
The toothy grin of, his murderer to be.

Boy's awake, a terrible dream
Lights flick on, a lustrious beam
Ghoul retreats, behind the door,
The boy cannot see what's in store.

Lights flick off, and once again
The toothy flash of ghoul's grin
Eyes alight, a reddish glare
Boy cannot see the fetid stare.

And once again, just like that
He glides across the same bare mat
Boy's asleep, he cannot feel
The ghoul's hook that begins to reel.

Asleep this boy may have been
The hook comes back, slashes again
Boy is dead, he cannot see
The glory of ghoul's victory...

I dedicate this to the ghoul behind my door.