The Mist

A Poem by PatrickPink

I've worked a lot of night jobs. This poem describes how surreal it can be walking home alone late at night.

In The Mist

At 3am the world renders itself as a
Shadow
                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 feet
Fasterfasterfaster
                Matching             your                     own
Never far behind
You spin and stop

Silence
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
Breathe.
The mist strokes the glass, begging to be let in.