Poem: Sure of Its Purpose

The sound is a whisper,

On the air,

Along with the creeping essence,

Of the coldness of hands,

That grace the hallways,

Tracing down to your bedroom.

There’s the faint smell of cigarettes,

The creaking of feet,

That could not be there.

The cameras do not show,

Anything at all.

Your home holds an echo,

Of something that died a long time ago.

The spirit is sure of its purpose,

But only it knows that purpose,

Only it knows what it wants,

And what it will do—

And why it will kill you.

Special thanks to: Melissa Potter

Did you like the article? Dislike? Tell me about it in the comments. I would love to hear your opinions! If interested in specific articles, or want to write as a guest, you can message me at scifibrandonscott@gmail.com. If you want to help keep this blog going, consider becoming my patron at https://www.patreon.com/coolerbs. Thanks for reading!


Let me hear your opinion.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s