he looked at me today
and then I felt his touch
on my shoulder even though his arm didn't seem to move
and the chill runs to my spine
and I smile and the little hairs on my arm stand up
and his look deepens
and I'm swallowed
and my entire body chills
but I still feel his touch on my face
(his arm didn't seem to move)

This is an original piece from high school; I was experimenting with different viewpoints in poetry. The intent of this poem was to write from the first-person perspective as someone else.

(Hopefully, the speaker comes off as being female; thanks to Stephen King for the antagonist's inspiration--he was intended to be something like the evil shopkeeper in Needful Things.)

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