Pitter-Patter

    This one doesn't really have anything to do with anything, but it's just something that came into my mind, and I had to write it down.

I can hear their

tiny feet

pitter-pattering on

the path outside.

I can smell those

scents of strawberry fields

and summer

that they use

to entice you

and draw you in.

I can feel

the icy chills they bring

starting

at the back of my neck

and spreading down

through my legs

to the tips of my toes.

I can taste that burning

on the back of my tongue.

And now

I can see

their horrific

deformed

mutated faces

pressed up close against mine.

Hopefully by next weekend I'll have found the other poems and will be able to publish those.