Could’ve, Should’ve

Why don’t you sit down and write more?
Inspiration is flowing,
You just need the opportunities,

I’m too busy sabotaging myself,
Plus,
Look out of the window—

What?

The shed;

What about it? Oh—
What the hell!?

As I look across to the neighbour’s shed,
Glowing in cruel white lighting from their security light,
As I zoom in to stare at the one broken window panel,
A little square of black holding imagined horrors,
A little square of black, holding—

A pallid arm,
Reaching across the gap,
Grasping at the frame with its wiry claw,
Oh shit, have I locked the backdoor?

And I run across the kitchen tiles,
The keys, the keys… there on the worktop,
In the lock, turn the lock…
Slip-slapping clammy footsteps pattering,
Across the patio,
Shit, shit,
Pull the handle up—

I jump back as it smashes against the glass,
Arms flailing and jaw gaping terribly, sliming the frosted window pane,
Rotting body juices dripping down the door,
A strained body-scream shattering the night,
Shattering what’s left of my sanity,
And it moves out of sight…
Moves off to the left and up…

The windows,
The upstairs windows!
And I freeze,
No time—

Clattering and clanging of the rusty iron drainpipe,
Thuddering steps swiftly across the ceiling,
Unstoppable footsteps pounding down the stairs,
Oh shit, oh shit…

I should’ve double-bagged it.

🌪