Sep 2010
2010-Contest: HORROR & FANTASY FICTION
Creeping down the decrepit stairwell,
Dust rising under my bare feet.
Fearing I will become a victim clutched by the night.
Slowly dragging my tortured, mangled leg,
I journey quietly, holding back tears,
Pausing by doorways, to deep darkened rooms.
Listening intently to every sound,
Sure it will be the last I ever hear.
Before I'm dragged to the deepest corners
Of my fertile mind, working in overdrive,
Conjuring images, I'm too frightened to admit are my own.
Having taken part in terrors of my past,
My mind rushes from one to the next as I progress
Finding my way through this deep maze,
Like the sweat of fear trickling down my back.
Bringing shivers in this hot, humid hell.
Making my way through doors,
Wooden floors creaking under foot.
Senses heightened by sheer terror,
Webs, brushing my cheek, creating panic in my mind,
Small hairs standing on end, hair that at any other time
I would be totally unaware of.
Rasping voices whispering,
In every deep, dank recess.
Telling me to run, begone,
Stop disturbing this expectant silence,
Inviting fear, agony, and hopelessness.
And there, before me, the essence of this dreaded night,
Waiting patiently for me to approach as it knew I would.
Every instinct I have telling me to flee,
But the inevitability of this final meeting prevents me.
Looking upon me as though an irritating diversion from its languid stupor.
A shell of my former self turned wretched by the agonies of life's misfortune.
This reflection, does it, does it.........lie?
How can that be me? This soulless, evil thing.
Vile hideousness, even a mother would destroy,
Borne of a past, littered with the remains of victims and perpetrators,
Refuse scattered along the highway of an unsavory life.
And yet, tis truth I see, wavering before me in this warped looking glass,
Wretched self loathing pounds at the shreds of my being,
As I recognize myself for what I have become.
Grotesque in form and feature, soulless, pitiless,
possessed of a demented mind, in which others
appear deranged, not quite human, unrecognizable.
Inciting fear and outrage in my tortured, senseless brain.
Refuge from this madness is all I seek
Relief from the visage of myself unveiled.
At last, with a final stroke, the voices silenced
Solace for a mind now gone.
Creeping down the decrepit stairwell,
Dust rising under my bare feet.
Fearing I will become a victim clutched by the night.
Slowly dragging my tortured, mangled leg,
I journey quietly, holding back tears,
Pausing by doorways, to deep darkened rooms.
Listening intently to every sound,
Sure it will be the last I ever hear.
Before I'm dragged to the deepest corners
Of my fertile mind, working in overdrive,
Conjuring images, I'm too frightened to admit are my own.
Having taken part in terrors of my past,
My mind rushes from one to the next as I progress
Finding my way through this deep maze,
Like the sweat of fear trickling down my back.
Bringing shivers in this hot, humid hell.
Making my way through doors,
Wooden floors creaking under foot.
Senses heightened by sheer terror,
Webs, brushing my cheek, creating panic in my mind,
Small hairs standing on end, hair that at any other time
I would be totally unaware of.
Rasping voices whispering,
In every deep, dank recess.
Telling me to run, begone,
Stop disturbing this expectant silence,
Inviting fear, agony, and hopelessness.
And there, before me, the essence of this dreaded night,
Waiting patiently for me to approach as it knew I would.
Every instinct I have telling me to flee,
But the inevitability of this final meeting prevents me.
Looking upon me as though an irritating diversion from its languid stupor.
A shell of my former self turned wretched by the agonies of life's misfortune.
This reflection, does it, does it.........lie?
How can that be me? This soulless, evil thing.
Vile hideousness, even a mother would destroy,
Borne of a past, littered with the remains of victims and perpetrators,
Refuse scattered along the highway of an unsavory life.
And yet, tis truth I see, wavering before me in this warped looking glass,
Wretched self loathing pounds at the shreds of my being,
As I recognize myself for what I have become.
Grotesque in form and feature, soulless, pitiless,
possessed of a demented mind, in which others
appear deranged, not quite human, unrecognizable.
Inciting fear and outrage in my tortured, senseless brain.
Refuge from this madness is all I seek
Relief from the visage of myself unveiled.
At last, with a final stroke, the voices silenced
Solace for a mind now gone.
