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!