While I was typing here last night,

I had an odd 'sensation',

of someone standing next to me,

reading my quotation.
 

I did not dare to look around,

I feared a ghastly sight,

I could not sit here all night long,

I'd been here half the night.
 

I figured if I didn't look,

and did not turn around,

the "thing" whatever it might be,

would leave without a sound.

Work, work, work - my fingers flew,

I had to finish quickly,

the story I was workign on

was really something sickly.

The murderer was almost caught,

and I realized as I wrote

How this nosy creature here

could easily be smote.

The story had to end up strong

I shot him in the head....

What happened to 'sensation'?

Perhaps that's now who's dead.