RED EYES

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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.

 

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DARK WINDOWS

spectral-insomnia Deactivated

Carl Rabus – Spassky Gate in Moscow (detail)

 

 

The clouds circle around

They bring the moon closer

And light up the windows

Where faces watch the night

Source:

RISING FROM THE DEEP

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Glistening water so deep,

I see it in my half sleep.

Rays of white over it all,

Giving it a mighty pall.

What lives beyond the norm?

Something with a dark form.

It rises from the glowing wet.

It’s definitely not a pet.

With a body muscular and strong.

It could be Wolf but let me be wrong.

 

THE DEAD GAME

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THE ROAD TO OASIS

colors trees

 

 

Take the road to Oasis.
A bright and sunny road
Filled with wishes and dreams.
No worries or despairs.

The Oasis Hotel waits with open arms.
High archways invite sea breezes.
Tourists lounge by the pool. 
No worries or despairs.

Until night falls.
Dark shadows appear on the streets
And on the white-sanded beach.
No worries or despairs.

No worries or despairs
For those who take care.
Death for those who do not.

THE DEAD GAME

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WHY DO WE WRITE?

THE END

blackoutraven:  gennaio  Just when you think it’s safe to step out from your bedroom. When the howling and chanting have finally subsided. When all is quiet. You put your foot down, and then you realize that all is not over. THE END

blackoutraven:

gennaio

Just when you think it’s safe

to step out from your bedroom.

When the howling and chanting

have finally subsided.

When all is quiet.

You put your foot down,

and then you realize that

it is not yet over.

THE END

THE GAME HAS BEGUN

 

 

Put on your mask.

Dress in your gown.

Step into your party shoes.

The dance is about to begin.

Music fills the mirrored room.

The band picks up the beat.

Dancers swirl under glowing chandeliers.

Rainbows of light reflect off the walls.

The room enlarges to accommodate the dancers.

The clock strikes midnight.

The music stops.

The dancers stand still.

The Dead Game has begun.

THE DEAD GAME

 

GINGERBREAD HOUSE

 

A gingerbread house so quaint.

Disguised with colorful paint.

An evil group lives here.

And our town is so near.

They are Watchers for The Dead.

I’m afraid to go to bed.

Come and take a quick look

Or you can read my book.

THE DEAD GAME