Not a poem, but hey

I stood there; the slow creaking of the door behind me sounding fainter than it usually did against the birch frame.  Looking forward, even in the dim light, I knew; I knew he sat there on my bed, among my belongings, among the warm covers of my mattress.  I imagined his gluttonous eyes glowing like an animals–a ravenous beast that could shred the very fabric of my life with its teeth.

The hysteria inside of me began to gurgle and foam and boil through my saliva, dripping and spitting into the air as I rambled inside of my mind but said nothing–just staring as the rage and nausea spilt into my lungs and heart.  And then I felt it: Death’s scythe plunging into my back with a burning heat.  I quickly turned around, but sadly, Death was not standing there to greet me; instead, my wife, simple and beautiful, laced in pink, cocked her head and said, “It will all be fine soon enough.”


~ by ardentbowel on May 19, 2013.

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