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You people scare me.

With your large hands and your tiny voices, and the way you sway from side to side when there's no wind. The tacks in your pockets and the rubber shavings in your hair. The way you stand and watch me in the rain.

You people scare me.

When I can't go to the bathroom without you getting in there first and filling the bath with ashes. The way you move so stiffly, like a tinpot puppet. The way you always sleep with your eyes wide open. When you wear a black pinstripe suit in the shower.

You people scare me.

With your bills and your circulars, and your ballot forms pushed through little slits in big black boxes. All the counting. And the numbers. The singing. That small mole on the side of your neck that looks so much like a comma. The colour of your teeth. The shape of your head. The smell of your palms. The sound of your footsteps as you run across the rooftops.

You people scare me.

You do.

You scare me all the time.

So now it's my turn to scare you.