I march
Into the valley of Judges,
Every eye cast down like a shadow
Upon me walking by.
There's no
Sun. The end
Comes
Slowest. There's no
End
In sight. My prints
Leave negatives. The shadow.
Darkly saturating. I look up
In fear of these monsters
At their smiling, squinted
Friend-masked eyes -
What could I do for you?
And the imminence
Of this moment
Tears through
My defenses.

Th-thank you f, for reading- goodboy-I mean
Goodbye, sorry sorry.

I march
Into the valley of Judges,
Every eye cast down like a shadow
Upon me walking by.
There's no
Sun. The end
Comes
Slowest. There's no
End
In sight. My prints
Leave negatives. The shadow.
Darkly saturating. I look up
In fear of these monsters
At their smiling, squinted
Friend-masked eyes -
What could I do for you?
And the imminence
Of this moment
Tears through
My defenses.

Th-thank you f, for reading- goodboy-I mean
Goodbye, sorry sorry.

So slightly below the splintered white ceiling,
I dreadfully shrieked at what the wall was revealing.

An apparition so putrid it rendered me ill.
Petrified numb I stood soundlessly still.

It felt as if glancing into an ominous mirror,
One in which my grisly demise was ever so nearer.

The bones were exposed and the face had decayed,
Sockets were empty and the skin had been flayed.

The hideous doppelganger then wearily stated,
Soothsaying that my damnable soul was ill-fated.

Like a rabid old beast I lunged at the wraith,
Viscously clawing and drubbing to scathe.

I suddenly swooned and plunged with a thud,
Awakening later in a pool of my blood.

As I lay moribund on this cold winter's night,
I stare at the wall with a terrible fright.

The spot on the wall which I relentlessly beat
Shone with the crimson of fresh slaughtered meat.

But the blood on the wall was not just a stain,
Rather my portrait of whom I have slain.

I thought I found love but
Only found my self  dead
On a hotel bed in a ******
Hotel room,
Murderer was the
One who I thought loved
Then I wake up in my own bed room
It’s 2024 and I am safe I think I am
But I am not sure
Memories of a past reincarnation

I am the zombie flea
Left for dead
Resurrected by hope
As now pain
No fear
And astronomical
Strength physically
And emotionally
For I am half dead
From my beginnings
A zombie

Full-moon light
Can create
Frightening and
Disturbing shadows that seem
To shape-shifting at a wim
As I walk the halls to get the bathroom
The full-moon exposes
The darkness of the corners
But yet the corners of our minds too
As I see these shape shifting
Shadows turn from evil
To horrific
I wish I stayed in my room

During the bone moon
The people start to turn on each other
Killing each other
To feed off their bones
During the dead of winter the
Survivors of the bone moon
Will fall prey
To the wendigo
As the soon waste away
Winter is a dangerous time of year

She rustles her feathers, fluttering as she twists and tethers.

Three white dots on her tail, wings with bravery that will never fail.

Perched on a high branch to hide from us below; is she really scared, or is it because it's all she know?

With chirps harmonically right, I wonder if they continue throughout the night

With black, beady eyes she views us all, wondering if it's an illusion when she stands tall

She was little once, like we all were. I wonder how much she's had to endure?

But now she is silent, gone, ran from fear, going anywhere to escape from here.

We humans have given her nothing but a scare. How, I wonder, how can this be fair?