poem - not finished and not sure how to finish it!

[Catalyst]

ok heres one iv started but have no clue how to finish it! its obvious what its about but im not sure where im going with it! i started it at 2am when i was in bed and got the fright of my life by my cat creeping in! lol!

i heard a noise one night in bed
as i lay under cover
i shivered as i thought with dread
this is not my secret lover

my eyes squeezed shut with thoughts of death
from monsters of outside
they'd chop me up and eat my guts
there's nowhere i could hide

their deep red eyes would pierce my soul
and find my deepest fears
and to the surface they will come
to mingle with my tears

a footstep, then a muffled sound
a shadow on the wall
a branch of tree moved by the wind
'thats it' i think 'thats all'

no monster of dark, with horns of black
to drag me from my bed
no bloody claw, with sharpened nails
to make my sheets stain red

i take a deep breath, to calm my heart
thats thudding in my chest
i swipe my palm, to wipe the sweat
caused by my unwanted guest...

thats all i have! should i finish it with something actually in my room or what! i have no idea. this has been sitting in my note book for ages.

amy

 

[Litany]

But then I saw the dreadful thing
And how my heart did sag.
The knotted hair, the fetid breath,
The minger I had shagged.

Not very good I know, but my best poems have always been about badgers. Maybe I think up something better later.

 

[Catalyst]

lol thats pretty funny! past experience then...! lol

amy

 

[Litany]

Then came a sudden creaking sound
I'd never felt such dread before
My room began to shake and moan
And my bed fell through the floor.

That one is dedicated to my chum, whose kitchen ceiling did cave in.

Still considering the badgers. I'll get there in the end.

 

[phil_t]

I would suggest nadgers as an excellent rhyme

Phil

 

[Stewart]

I would suggest nadgers as an excellent rhyme

Reminds of Round the Horne

D'ye ken Jim Pubes

D'ye ken Jim Pubes with his splod so bright,
As he traddles his nadger in the bright moonlight?
He wurdles his posset all through the night,
But he can't turn it off in the morning.

Oh the sound of his groat threw me from my bed,
As he blew up his mooly fit to waken the dead,
Oh the noise of his grunge nearly blew off me head,
And removed all the paint from the awning.

D'ye ken Jim Pubes? Now his splod's turned white,
And his nadger's been struck with an awful blight,
And he can't find his posset without a light,
And he can't turn it on in the morning.

Oh his poor old groat, it has sprung a leak,
And the sound of his mooly's reduced to a squeak:
Though he blows and he blows till he's blue in the eek,
We'll no more hear him grunge in the mor-or-or-orning.​