Your Name

It has you walking home from school, past that house where the front room curtains moved yet revealed no face behind only the trace of a shadow stepping back into your mind - the sound of footsteps that followed and stopped when your feet froze to the ground and, on looking around, no-one was there and now, stepping through time, that dull echo on empty streets late at night when far from home and sleep, you get a sense that someone is still following, so near now you can almost hear those icy lips whispering your name.