Paranoia
22nd February 2015
I know somebody’s watching me
there’s not a scrap of doubt.
I feel their beady eyes on me
so seldom venture out.
I keep my curtains part-way drawn
and stand back from the glass.
There’s someone lurking in the street
I sense their shadow pass.
What is it that they want with me?
What have I said or done?
Have they a knife to do me in
or worse — a loaded gun?
Are they a ghost from long ago
with vengeance in their heart?
I lie in bed and rack my brains
and then the terrors start.
A floorboard creaks along the hall
another on the stairs.
A shiver runs across my skin
and up go all my hairs.
There is a strange smell wafting faint
I hear a muffled cough
sly whispers penetrate the wall —
drone threatening — far off ...
Panic rises in my throat
I choke upon a scream
come wide awake in a cold sweat
unsure if it’s a dream.
Dawnbreak — I hear the milk arrive
the bottles chink and chime
the float moves slowly down the road
the paper boy’s on time.
And somewhere out there — rain or shine
my stalker hangs about
observing every move I make
in hope they’ll catch me out.
We play this game of cat and mouse
I think they know I know
they follow — dog me undeterred
wherever I might go.
I’ve almost seen them once or twice
but not quite quick enough
to glimpse a face — they disappear
like smoke’s departing puff.
I have one theory they’re a clone
a not-quite-perfect twin —
the other half I might have had —
same teeth— same nose — same skin...
Or maybe they’re an agent — sort
of James Bond type of spy
and it’s their job to track me down
although I can’t guess why.
If they are actual flesh and blood
I’ve yet to find a trace —
I’ve been down on my hands and knees
and searched around the place
for anything they might have dropped —
some clue beneath a chair
but found no footprints but my own —
no tell-tale strands of hair.
It’s been a while now — no one knows —
I haven’t told a soul
that I’m in danger day and night —
too spooked to take a stroll.
More likely no one would believe
a word of what I said.
They’d tell me I am “paranoid”
and lock me up instead.
As if some set of padded walls
could keep me safe from harm.
They can’t imagine what it’s like
for no one would stay calm
with Mister Creepy on their trail
and breathing down their neck.
I bolt the door and say my prayers —
the game’s not over
yet...
there’s not a scrap of doubt.
I feel their beady eyes on me
so seldom venture out.
I keep my curtains part-way drawn
and stand back from the glass.
There’s someone lurking in the street
I sense their shadow pass.
What is it that they want with me?
What have I said or done?
Have they a knife to do me in
or worse — a loaded gun?
Are they a ghost from long ago
with vengeance in their heart?
I lie in bed and rack my brains
and then the terrors start.
A floorboard creaks along the hall
another on the stairs.
A shiver runs across my skin
and up go all my hairs.
There is a strange smell wafting faint
I hear a muffled cough
sly whispers penetrate the wall —
drone threatening — far off ...
Panic rises in my throat
I choke upon a scream
come wide awake in a cold sweat
unsure if it’s a dream.
Dawnbreak — I hear the milk arrive
the bottles chink and chime
the float moves slowly down the road
the paper boy’s on time.
And somewhere out there — rain or shine
my stalker hangs about
observing every move I make
in hope they’ll catch me out.
We play this game of cat and mouse
I think they know I know
they follow — dog me undeterred
wherever I might go.
I’ve almost seen them once or twice
but not quite quick enough
to glimpse a face — they disappear
like smoke’s departing puff.
I have one theory they’re a clone
a not-quite-perfect twin —
the other half I might have had —
same teeth— same nose — same skin...
Or maybe they’re an agent — sort
of James Bond type of spy
and it’s their job to track me down
although I can’t guess why.
If they are actual flesh and blood
I’ve yet to find a trace —
I’ve been down on my hands and knees
and searched around the place
for anything they might have dropped —
some clue beneath a chair
but found no footprints but my own —
no tell-tale strands of hair.
It’s been a while now — no one knows —
I haven’t told a soul
that I’m in danger day and night —
too spooked to take a stroll.
More likely no one would believe
a word of what I said.
They’d tell me I am “paranoid”
and lock me up instead.
As if some set of padded walls
could keep me safe from harm.
They can’t imagine what it’s like
for no one would stay calm
with Mister Creepy on their trail
and breathing down their neck.
I bolt the door and say my prayers —
the game’s not over
yet...