Tell the Bad Man in My Room to Go

Tell the Bad Man in My Room to Go

The walls are cold with silence,

the window creaks at night.

Tell the bad man in my room to go,

he lingers by the bed.

His shadow leans so heavy,

across the trembling floor.

I hear his breath in darkness,

though no one else believes.

The curtains move in whispers,

a draft that chills the skin.

Yet deeper than the wind,

I feel his watching eyes.

Tell the bad man in my room to go,

for I am tired of fear.

I hide beneath the blanket,

but still he will not leave.

The wardrobe door stands open,

its blackness like a mouth.

I swear I hear him shifting,

inside the hollow dark.

The clock ticks slow and heavy,

each second loud as drums.

I pray for dawn to save me,

but night will not let go.

Tell the bad man in my room to go,

banish him from this place.

For children should know safety,

not terror in their sleep.

Yet if he stays forever,

I’ll fight him when I can.

And light will break his shadow,

when morning finds the room.