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67 · Apr 8
Monday morning
The moment I look
at my bathroom mirror,
I see bags under
my tired, bitter,
****** up eyes.
I look like a hag
and my heart
cracked into broken
pieces like glass—

Not only I couldn’t
sleep last night from
nightmares and
fears I’ve had.
I lost one friend—
Or two—
Or a few friends,
here and there…

I want this to end—
I just want my
friends back…
54 · Aug 19
December, 1984
Tell me,
is it just a dream
made up of tears?
Because I always feared
somebody’s watching me.
I’m just an average man,
working an average
nine to five.

When I come home
at dead of night,
I bolt the door real tight.
Dark figures,
crawling beneath my skin.
A million eyes burning,
lurking in the long,
black void of midnight.
Walls clawed
like sharp knives
by hungry hands.
A horror scene
of the Truman Show,
rotting in my own home.

I always feel like
somebody’s watching me.
Not friends.
Not neighbors.
Not the mailman,
the IRS or the law.

But fifteen missing bodies
I take time to bury.
Faces flicker in static,
the TV hiss—
Their names bleed
all over news channels.
Behind mildew walls
decorated in the
smell of decay.
Floorboards
creaking like bones.

Beneath me,
there are deep secrets
twisting and turning.
Lost voices whisper,
and colorless eyes
of the uncanny,
staring, following,
stretching unnaturally
at dead of night.
Hell, I’ve paid the price—

Everybody’s watching me.
It's been a while since I wrote something on this website and im sorry about that, it's been a while and I had a lot of things on my plate! anyways this was inspired by the song "Somebody's watching me" by Rockwell and I had the darkest, twisted idea of what if he was a murderer the whole time and the bodies he buried are now coming back to haunt him...

Anyways I hope u enjoy my poem!
Thank you for the support and I love all of y'all!
51 · Jul 5
7/2/1932
“You keep dancin’ with the devil,
And one day, he’ll follow you home…”

I’ve been dancin’
with the devil
for a long, long time—
Into the night blues.
The scariest part?
I’ve been feelin’ good—
Oh…feelin’ too good.

Blood on the wooden floor,
his breath smell like
liquor, hell and pain—
Somethin’ like my old pops.
The devil wore many faces
with twisted smiles I learned from.
Crooked, sharp hands,
wrapped ‘round my cold neck—
Yet the music keeps playin’.

I know burnin’ truths hurt,
so I lied to you
not to break you.
I love you, darlin’,
you did all you can.
I hope you can stand it.

Love’s a ghost cabin,
I built those walls.
Once full of souls singin’ blues—
Now hollow and haunted.
Trapped both saint and sinner
of a fallin’ angel,
and you’re the hymn
I can’t stop hummin’.

— The End —