12am.

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They'll come out of their personal hells,
Ready to taint your sanctuaries.
If you dare stir,
They're ready to swoop in for your soul.

First through your skin,
Leaving traces of their ice in your veins.
Your bones are their next victim,
Just a maleficent caress making them friable.

It only takes a second,
For your heart to be forcefully claimed.
And your bloodcurdling screams won't help you,
Neither will your will to fight.

Your soul will gently slip away,
The light in your eyes will disappear,
And the last thing you'll see,
Is that malignancy in their smirks.

Their elusion is as quiet as their arrival,
The only sounds are their sinister snickers,
Not only leaving an indelible imprint on the traumatised,
But reminding them of their return,
Same time.

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In My Feelings//Watty's 2019//Where stories live. Discover now