I’m sorry-you cannot come in,
The demons are inside,
Shrieking-tearing apart my cranium.
Howling,
Waiting for the judgment of the gods,
Like some horror story waiting to be unleashed
Looming over-anticipating for your heart to burst.
They do not know these things,
They walk by carelessly-not
Wondering who that little child with the teddy bear is.
But no one stops to smile or clean the teddy’s plastic fur.
They walk-their eyes ahead to their own road.
Until the child reforms itself,
Blood staining its hands while clutching its
Now lifeless teddy bear.
They walk by-making a circle around it,
Grabbing their children’s hands.
They see it as some maniac-a character from a horror book.
The child finally found some sick sort of attention.
No, sir, you cannot come in,
If you really think that an asylum and metal bars will
Solve it all-you’ll make me laugh.
Have you not realized? Or even seen?
Or do you keep your own eyes to your feet-not really seeing the sky?
You’re so damn typical.
Heh
YOU ARE READING
A Darker Edge
Mystery / ThrillerNobody seems to notice the darker edges of imagination. They try to find it through suicide poems, I suppose. I think I might have just stepped on the line. And this is what I find **SLOW UPDATES**
