Drip

Within the shadows I see the blood does flow, running down across those old and rotten bones.

Falling, flowing I listen joyously to that drip, drip, drip the blood does move in those oh so steady streams, visceral rivers of life, all the horror that comes of it.

Streaming down the rotten bones, of one I hated long ago, it pools and shudders and begins again, that thing I hate sadly, or it would it be gladly? Never truly dead.

With in the shadows I see the blood does flow, running down across the bones, the rotting living bones of that thing I hated so long ago.

With in the shadows, in time with that blackened heart, I hear it clearly, that blood that flows and falls, and I love it so.

That drip, drip, drip, for now, and forever more.

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The Darkness Returned

Oh I’ve never been so happy as I am right now!

I’ve missed the bloody mess inside my mind, the charnel house with the violence turned up to nine.

I’ve missed the horrors shambling around, the terrors that crawl from out that bloody ground.

I see it now, those things that twist and tangle inside my mind, the darkness has returned, oh this blessed nightmare of mine!

Welcome, welcome home, to the darkest place inside my life, that shadow with in my mind, the bleeding has started and the screaming begins, the darkness returns…

Let the horror begin.

What came in…

My door opened, and then my door closed, what it let in, I do not know. I do know that of late my house has grown cold, my water runs red and my clocks do not toll. I fear that very soon, my own head will roll. 

 

I hear it at night, that thing that came in, moaning its mourning and terrible dread. I hear it skitter, I hear it clack, though the sound I fear is, is a snicker snack. I know that of late my house has grown cold, my water runs red, and my clocks do not toll. I fear that, very soon, my own head shall roll.

 

I follow it now, with a lantern at night, the sounds and sights keep me up with fright. My hair is graying as I age a pace, there is nothing to be done, but to accept my fate. If you should hear your door open and close, then you notice your house has grown cold. If your water begins to run red and the clocks do not toll it’s best to run before all too soon, it’s your head that does roll. 

 

You can not bargain, you can not hide, I do not know about fleeing, you can always try. If the air grows cold and your watch does not tick, and you hear a skitter from some dark nitch. Flee and scurry as fast as you can, for the thing that comes has a terrible itch. It itches for blood from some fresh vein, and I fear that my warning efforts may be in vain. 

 

I hear it now, at my door, my clocks now toll, but after this I’ll hear them no more, you see its a bout time for me to go, it tells me now that my head must roll. I heard the skitter, but now that dreadful sound has taken it’s place now I see it flicker in the dim light of this place. All sound but the bells, how they toll for me, that dreadful snicker snack, it’s taken my life you see. Be warned, be wary but above all be quick, for when that door opens , you must close it, you see, that’s the trick. 

Need a light?

You know, I used to play with my lighter a lot. Flicking it open and shut, lighting it when I was scared. Heh, watching that persistent little flame dance always made me feel a little bit more secure. Oh other knew of this habit, always told me it’d be bite me in the ass eventually.

It’s funny in a way, what happened. On my way to an interview, or was it a date? A meeting? It’s all hazy now apart from the fire, but just outside of the gas station, that one with the food place attached? You know it, maybe, is it still there? Oh well, I got splashed as a car, or something, went by, soaking my front side. God, I remember being so pissed I started flicking my zippo, trying to calm down. That’s how it started, then I got the bus stop.

You see, I was a smoker, pissed off, with ample cigs and a lighter. How else to calm down? I lit up.

Oh boy did I light up. I remember the flames, all up the front of my suit, eating through my silk undershirt, melting it to my skin, it hurt to much to scream, all that fire, and the smell of flesh and a cigarette. Hah, they were right about two things, my Zippo habit, and that smoking would be my end.

Oh well, wait, do you need a light for that? Your hands are shaking, here, let me get that for you.