Twisted Fury

Hatred drips off every tongue
a vicious bile, spilled forth until
believed then spreads like spores of death,
intoxicated mould on breath.

The chatter chills and freezes hearts,
to kill, the only action left.
Pile high the blackthorn pyre,
light the damning fire.

Licking flames char flesh and bone,
souls ignite in screeching horror.
Ignore the brutal stench of ill,
swallow down the bitter pill.

Ashes mark the wicked skin
of those whose sin is darker still.
Blackened thorns of twisted fury
will be remembered here.

I feel you crawling on my skin,
dread and unease build deep within.
My eyes feel like they’re made of glass,
will shatter if they move too fast.
My tongue has lost all sense of speech,
and wallows there swollen and beached.
I need to scream, I need to cry,
I need to run, but don’t know why,
my legs remain fastened in place.
I feel your breath upon my face.
My heart beat sounds so far away.
I know that I will die this day,
so I do.

The whispering wind began to scream
piercing through the night.
The crippled trees swung to and fro
longing to be upright.
I heard his footsteps one by one
tapping on the ground.
Slow at first then they sped up
I warily turned around.
My tongue became redundant
my screams could not be heard
my legs, useless appendages
unable to move forward.
The last thing I remember
was the colour of his skin
white as alabaster
cold as icy wind.

When darkness falls they come alive,
crawling from the shadows.
One purpose on their mind,
to feed.

They are driven by thirst,
fuelled by need,
and when it comes to take
a life,
they are overcome with
greed.

The best thing you can do
is to lock up all your doors.
Ensure you’ve closed your
windows,
and then hide beneath the
stairs.

Never try to find them,
never let them in.
No matter what they tell you,
they’ll never let you win.