A Poem Called Terror

it’s the tick of a stranger-clock
in an unfamiliar room
the scratch of enchanted bones
in a dark and haunted tomb

uneven steps of a gallows-walk
and the dancing of the dead
the cries and un-stifled moans
you hear inside your head

it’s the shrieks in the blood
of silent screams in red
the running of Vein’s exiles
on a back-alley deathbed

being buried underneath the mud
on a street without a name
the curses spoken to defile
and goodness gone in flame

it’s mass production of The Same
a reconstruction of the soul
whip held high to keep you tame
when fear is in control

Have a Happy Halloween!