SEND IN THE CLOWNS

Daniel Merriam

 

I open my eyes to strange creatures.

Why are they in my bedroom?

Their thrill laughter makes my skin crawl.

They wave knives at me.

I need to escape.

I can’t.

I’m tied to my bed.

They move closer.

I close my eyes.

Silence fills the room.

I slit my eyes open.

The room is now empty.

I glance at my chair in the corner.

A red balloon is tied to it.

Oh no.

THE DARK ALLEY

nature/vintage blog

 

I step from the restaurant

where there had been light.

Now there is only darkness,

and no stars in sight.

 

I hear footsteps in the distance.

Dark shadows move and sway.

Steps echo louder in the dark.

I bow my head and pray.

 

I run to the light.

Then I’m falling down.

My face to the ground.

My world, upside down.

 

I lift my head.

Black shoes before me.

The lights go out.

Darkness now claims me.

 

MANY HAVE GONE

RED EYES

Source:

 

 

Who sits on my shelf

each night?

Who casts shadows

on my bedroom wall?

I move closer.

I must see what it is.

The head moves.

Its hood falls back.

A doll’s face appears.

A yellow glow

in the darkness.

Red eyes turn to me.

Burning a hot hole

right through me.

 

THE WASHING MACHINE

 

 

I’m having a bad dream,

no, maybe a nightmare,

of a washing machine.

 

It wakes me up at night.

It rumbles and whispers.

I hope it won’t take flight.

 

It’s moving and grooving

to a beat of its own,

that is far from soothing.

 

It’s a horrible sight.

A machine set to hard.

It’s ready for a fight.

 

I scream into my pillow.

“My clothing is all too clean,”

then I weep like a willow.

IT’S ALIVE

 

 

 

Puppet Master 2 (1991)

 

What do I see 

as I wake from sleep?

A puppet watching me.

 

It creaks.

It groans.

Its head spins.

 

It can’t be real.

It’s a wooden puppet.

No one pulls its strings.

 

It speaks

in a deep voice.

It can’t be alive.

 

It says,

“Time to play.”

I run to the door.

 

It can’t be.

It stands before me,

taller than me.

 

 

It can’t be.

But it is.

It’s alive.

 

DARK SHADOW

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vintage blog

 

 

He walks in the night,

Ready for a fight.

No one comes near.

Most out of fear.

 

I won’t walk his way.

By the tree, I’ll stay

Until he’s gone from sight.

Only then I’ll take flight.

END HOUSE AT OASIS

 

 

End House sits alone and deserted.

Shutters torn and hanging.

Furniture upended.

Shattered pictures.

Shattered dreams.

What happened to the family?

 

Open the door.

Walk up the battered staircase.

Past the broken statues.

A sigh follows my hesitant steps.

A wind whistles through the empty rooms.

Dust swirls in mounds on the wood floors.

 

A scream rips through the rooms below.

Has the family returned,

Or am I the next victim?

The sound of footsteps on the stairs.

I must run.

I must hide.

 

They’re back.

 

THE DEAD GAME

 

 

DUST IN THE WIND

 

I’m alone

Beneath a tree

In a garden.

No sounds

But birds chirping.

The smell of grass

in the warm air.

What is that sound?

The wind rustling the leaves.

Beautiful.

Relaxing.

Perfect.

The sun retreats.

 

Footsteps draw near.

Too dark to see who it is.

It can’t be.

I’m now dust in the wind.