He’s back.
How could this be?
I should have known.
He will never rest easy.
Without me to torment.
Without me in his arms.
A door opens.
He tempts me with sunshine.
His hand reaches for me.
My skin tingles from his touch.
I turn away and
Run from his sweet words.
His spirit envelopes me with coldness.
He whispers promises in my ear.
He will come for me tonight.
He will appear in a new package.
I will be prepared and ready.
I will not be fooled again.
The Dead won’t win.
THE DEAD GAME
The water flows smooth
through a quiet town.
Bedtime draws near.
Soon dreams will filter
through the cool breeze.
The bridge gives a sigh
before settling for the night.
Hotter than hell is their playground.
Beneath layers of rocks and dirt.
They wait for their day of salvation.
When they can ride in the storm.
They grow impatient for the invasion.
The end of life as we know it.
I can hear their cries blowing in the wind.
The whispers brought forth from below.
It’s time for us to gather ammunition.
Before our poor town is nothing at all.
THE DEAD GAME
A light shines through the window.
What was dark is now light.
The spotlight hits its mark.
My dark form shivering on the bed.
Whispers fill the air.
Footsteps follow in their wake.
A door opens below.
Is it too late to run?
I must save myself from him.
He walks the night to find me.
His journey has come to an end.
And so has mine.
THE DEAD GAME
… the inner gauge is rising to its peak …
Anger raises its head
as I thrash in my bed.
The hot flush of pink is flowing.
To my brow, it isn’t slowing.
I remember his aqua eyes
as he retold his many lies.
I watched the grim line of his frown
as he turned my world upside down.
I won’t let him ruin my night.
I need him out of my sight.
No more meetings in the dark
beneath the elm in the park.
No more whispers as we walk.
I know the town loves to talk.
I say goodbye to my fickle love
as the moon bows its head above.
It comes in the night.
It comes to all.
To all who sleep.
To all who lie awake.
It comes on soft wings.
It comes in silence.
I lie and wait.
In trepidation.
In fear.
For it.
Hotter than hell is their playground.
Beneath layers of rocks and dirt.
They wait for their day of salvation.
When they can ride in the storm.
They grow impatient for the invasion.
The end of life as we know it.
I can hear their cries blowing in the wind.
The whispers brought forth from below.
It’s time for us to gather ammunition.
Before our poor town is nothing at all.
THE DEAD GAME
