The most real and the most terrifying
Is the invisible enemy
They put holes in my wall to peek
Their eyes stretched wide in mock glee
Their cracked lips whispering I'll never be free
Little do they know, they're strung up next to me
Hung my head in complacency
Muttering that soon they'll all see
Soon enough I'll find the key
They push me against the wall kicking scree
Believe what you want but it's a fallacy
My body may be dulled but my eyes keep a gleam
The one they should be afraid of is me
Soon enough it'll be too late to flee
Mustering strength for my final plea
Life is a prison but a prisoner I refuse to be
About the Creator
Within poetry
Reducing my working hours seemed to be a saddening yet efficient choice to be myself again. Finding someone, as if something was amiss. Here I am, and thankfully not the same person as I was, but the grey moodiness withstands any medication and therapeutic walk one may take, suddenly obscuring sleep, allowing you to eat more or to eat less, and making me prone to poetry. Not really to any benefit, to tell the truth.
By Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P about 19 hours ago in Poets
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmas3 days ago in Horror
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