walking up the steep path and slipping on the sludge
knee deep in creeping weeds
the old timber house
knock knock on the big old door
anybody there i ask
no noise accept the scuttle of feet
hello
i bang on the door i hear no more
hello
i bang harder on the door
the shutters on the window bang from the wind
bang on the door once more
i turn round and head back
wait
i turn around
who are you
i am you
no who are you
i am you
what
he shuts the door
i run as fast as i can
open this door
i step back i kick the door
it falls flat on its back
who are you
as i said i am you
how is it possible
im your twin
fever my blood found at the door
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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