Tracy Mullins Poet Rhyme

Paranoid

Paranoid?
Who me?
What a story.
How can that be?

So I turn on the lights,
just to make sure,
no one is looking.
Lock the door.

They're in the closet.
(Or in my head.)
Turn off the faucet.
Look under the bed.

I once had a friend, 
locked us in his apartment.
Messages they could send,
to the F.B.I. department.

We look in the trees
to see who is there.
Thirty acres of leaves.
They could be anywhere!

Lock the doors.
Turn off the lights.
There could be more.
Shh! Be quiet.

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