The lift is like an open mouth
Welcoming its prey
Shadowy entrance, closes,
Digesting as dinner goes down.
Don’t ask what happens
When you go up.
Back stairs are giants,
Shapes, shifting amongst us.
They change like teeth
Eating and chewing on forgotten
Jumpers and ties, shoes.
Within the changing rooms,
Pegs like swords holding up bags,
Holding up coats, like dead bodies.
Dumped clothes, like burnt ashes.
Along the corridors, a minotaur.
As if the labyrinth has come alive.
Get lost in there, get lost,
Lady Mabel haunts these corridors, pale as paper.
Dark caverns, in the shapes of classrooms.
Dark pits with bones of victims,
Lairs of monsters.
The sports hall, dark, huge and scary.
A murder scene. Cold, red blood.
Left alone due to the lack of evidence.
By Leah Wood