In the dead silence of the night,
He crawled out of his house,
With mixed emotions of rage and fear,
And ran as fast as he could,
Holding on to his life that was so very dear.
Blood dripping from his fresh wounds
So weak, he almost swooned.
But he ran so fast that he was out of breath,
One last desperate attempt to deceive death
His legs gave away and he fell to the ground,
His lungs cursing him all through out.
But what was it that he was trying to escape?
His wife? Himself? Or his fate?
He lay for a while, scrambling about
Then with certainty he rose, leaving behind all doubt
Headed toward home, he now ran faster than before
Ignoring the fight put up by his body so sore.
He entered his house and could not believe,
The scene before him so gruesome he wanted to leave,
Flipped back through his mind and not a thing he could retrieve.
His wife’s body lay there in a pool of blood,
Just a mangled body and a broken arm.
He couldn’t recollect a thing from the time he left,
Of his memory of that fateful night he was bereft.
He could not put the night’s events in order,
Why had he run out of his house?
Why in such a miserable condition was his spouse?
And when he looked up to the mirror,
What he saw made him tremble with terror.
It was the same face but another person,
With an evil smile etched across.
It was that person controlling him now,
He did not realize that it was him speaking aloud
“You coward you must also die like your poor wife”
Saying that he picked up the knife
And stabbed himself straight in the heart.
And so it was death that pulled him apart
From his very own Dark Passenger.