There is an honesty in writing that I’ve never seen elsewhere
because here, within the walls of a page
even a lie is true
so when I tell you that last I was haunted by a goblin
his yellow teeth flashing outside my window
his orange eyes winking beyond my reflection
it is absolutely true
and when I continue on, saying
that I woke up thinking I was safe
and that is when he struck
and fed from my very heart before my dying eyes
well, that is just as true
Sitting here now, ignoring the tapping at my window,
I don’t even have to tell you the goblins real name
It’s a poem, after all.
The Cabinet of A. Collingwood 