I'm scared of you, Colin

Your kitchen touches my bathroom so neat
When I shower I hear you cutting up potatoes, skin, meat
What elaborate cameras have you set into place?
And what holes have you drilled to look into our space?

Fear of you brings no energy, rather
It calls for closed windows
Vodka
And climatically inappropriate clothing

I'll keep on hiding knives and bricks
To cut and numb what sense still sticks
Until there's no trace of me when they come in the door
My body in bags stowed under the floor.