I stand in my room,
A different door creaks,
Turning, I see my brother,
Head bowed, blanket in hand,
Standing on the landing,
Ready to descend the stairs…
I stop him,
His eyes are wide, glassy,
With black rings around them,
Where are you going?
An inaudible mumble,
I question him again…
And his tone suddenly changes…
I’m going to bed,
He gets angry as I move him back to his room,
His anger remits in his voice,
I have never heard him speak like that before,
It’s at a whole new level, not louder,
Just firmer, deeper, and more sinister…
It unnerves me,
Not what he said,
Just the way he said it,
That look in his eyes wasn’t his own,
That voice in his throat wasn’t his own,
Leaving one question…
Whose was it?
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