Clown Shoes - A kind of poem.

A pair of clown shoes are parked at the foot of my bed, bright red and comically large. They belong to a clown named Clarence who would visit me every night. Clarence would talk to me as I lay in my bed, he would lecture like a parent. Don’t talk to strangers he would say. You were a stranger I say. But I have always been watching you he says. Every time you are alone, I’m watching. When you have that feeling of being watched? That’s me. When you get a shiver down your spine? I’m breathing on your neck. I’m always watching. I’m always waiting. To drag you under the bed.