Shivers, creeping down your spine
Grabbing you like a demon of ice
You are shaking, each passing terror
Gripped by the visions of the unholy
Nothing can stop these feelings now
Bubbling up like the foulest pit
Nausea like a fist, clenching inside
But nothing can be seen, nothing there
That feeling there is something behind you
Watching, waiting, ready to strike
For what can be more terrifying, my friend
Than having to face fear, the horror of fear itself
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 7:21 PM UTC
Shivers, creeping down your spine
Grabbing you like a demon of ice
You are shaking, each passing terror
Gripped by the visions of the unholy
Nothing can stop these feelings now
Bubbling up like the foulest pit
Nausea like a fist, clenching inside
But nothing can be seen, nothing there
That feeling there is something behind you
Watching, waiting, ready to strike
For what can be more terrifying, my friend
Than having to face fear, the horror of fear itself
copyright Chris Smith 2011
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