A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breaths and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard, except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a shed and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, able to accept the momentary peace, and a place to call refuge.  

A possible misstep turns into crunched leaves outside, wild eyes scramble towards their opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash her weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, that formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads all holes it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole and pans over a sated forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
The only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. lmfao.
Rob Atkinson Dec 2012
It’s strange to think we fear the darkness
when we are younger,
A form of innocence that we harnessed
I’d much rather prefer.
Now that sounds crazy but hear me out
it’s something that you’ll see,
When innocence is gone you’ll come about
to find it hides in me.
That same darkness resides in you
I dread it’s greater than,
The darkness wrapped around your room
that you feared at age ten.
It’s something that grew inside your mind
and clung to your rib cage,
With every breath you come to find
the wars inside you wage.
It hides in every crevice and corner
bound to your bone marrow,
It tears apart your soul and worse
sometimes it even shows.
So I’d prefer those simpler days
with light came faith and trust,
The flick of a switch can’t keep at bay
the darkness inside all of us.
©RobbyAtkinson
atptla Mar 20
Fallen leaves sleep on a lake, sealed with a long forgotten tale.
The heady wind that doesn't let the trees to sleep rules the desolate vale.
Yet, lily-white blossoms, much shinier than arrogant moonlight,
Held their breaths, blinking the shyness, wait on blue philomels' flight.

A poor voice shivers, under the calm water and firm ground,
As to be known by the faltering stars and not to lose his only bound.
Once offered his heart to her white hands hurting with each caress,
But dug it into a fair melody as he was afraid to confess.

In dancing delicacy of a raindrop, his disowned words are hidden,
Has to stay awake, but night is endless and the morning is forbidden.
Wraps around his neck with cold fingers, bereavement fed by devious dismay,
Bereft of remedy, he watches his asunder soul's draining away.
Shashi May 2017
Bright light's knife
swirl inside me
Cutting the edges
of the soul

Heart left withered
Hope betraying
Time fading

Memories, buried deep down
But not dead
Love's a trap
Darkness only friend

Coz it's time
Not of lights

Everything black
Is enlightening,
Everything shining
misleading

It's one decision away
Love, hope.. Pain, agony
Imprisonment and freedom

They dance above my head
Enjoying the show
Oh are they devils
Or angels, I do not know

They all appear same
Friends or foe
Misery or joy,
making me wonder
Am I a human
Or just a toy

When nothingness
Is all what left

Nothing to feel
Nothing to say,
No I do not fear of the dark
it's light that make me fade away.
A new year is come and you're still not gone.

I can feel you creeping up on me. You feed on my energy, yet, I cannot see you. I'm glad I can't see your face.

You smell like an old forgotten rot underneath a seam of doors hiding the old death of forgotten men. Your cousin looms, taunting me to acknowledge your presence.

You climb on my back--you've caught up to me.

I've tried running, it doesn't help. You live under my shadow; you're quiet like him too.

I can hear the smack of your lips graze across my consciousness, your breath--icy. You touch my eyes and they freeze without freezing. The hairs on the back of my head hurt because they stand on end amidst your frozen breath. You make your move and whisper icily into my ear,

. . . . You're nothing.

I almost agree.

. . . . No one loves you.

My wife does! And my daughter too!

. . . . No one wants to hear you speak.

Fine, I'll shut up. I look into a mirror to see my reflection staring back at me. My icy stare sends chills to my bones. Is that really me?

. . . . Yes, you're dead.

Sometimes I feel like it, yeah.

. . . . Nothing matters.

Finally, we agree on something.

. . . . It would be better if you just weren't here.

I begin to cry.

. . . . Remember your daughter, here's a picture.

She's so beautiful. I cry some more.

. . . . You will fail her.

. . . . You have failed her.

. . . . I will consume her.

. . . . You perpetuated this all on your own.

. . . . You're a fraud, seeking pity.

. . . . You're a sorry person, aren't you?

. . . . Feel that burning inside you? This is what happens when you let in the dark passenger.

. . . . I shall consume you, too.



. . . . --AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.



Yes, it is my fault. Like the fault line in the earth's crust, my mind splits in twain.

The excitement ends when I've become drunk with madness, not seeing the light around me. I sleep a little, contemplating all that I convinced myself.

In the morning the sun is out, shining through the window. You're still sleeping though, dear dark passenger. I try not to wake you. I seek the sun hoping you will disappear and take your darkness with you, but you persevere, keeping your hands at the ready until I am vulnerable again, waiting to make my dance to the tune of hopelessness--always just, "one more time."
6 January 2018 - My take on bipolar depression, the dark passenger. My biggest struggle is what it does to me, using my daughter as a pawn to dig the deepest abyss my imagination can create; I cast myself in. She's both my shining star and my worst despair, because I fear the dark passenger will take her, too.
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