I can’t confirm whether or not this is true,
but last night a faceless goblin
melted itself down to a filthy, thick, tar-like liquid
and slid through my front door’s grateful letterbox,
effortlessly puddled its way up the stairs
and under the crack at the bottom of my bedroom door,
then silently shuffled across the floorboards
and up the bed frame and under my duvet
and swapped my bones for dust.

© Carl Burkitt 2020