Death Street

I knock at the door of this home,
I’d rather not stay out here and roam.
I hear something moving inside,
And what opens the door had already died.
I try to run, but I cannot,
I try to scream, but my throat is hot.
I try to get my body moving,
But it’s too late,
I’m already snoozing,
A sleep I’ll never come out of.

A/N I wrote this when I was about 9 with the help of my dad.