This is one of my dark poems we all know these things are figments of the imagination.
Bump this blue:
The sheets of wind gasp through the crack in the door slithering over the floor like pitter patter the wendigo whispering is the cause of chagrin.
A gape a gasp of breath bobbing like a hobgoblin on the breast of your chest the batibat stealing the gait of your breath seeping your life into the cape of death.
Sifting through the dream weaver like a weasel pillaging an egg beneath a hen rear end, Baku stealthy and lethal stuff your soul in the hole in the nowhere to go whole.
Akin to a proboscis of a kissing beetle laced with anesthetic like a doctor syringe needle stings the flesh, nerved no more the Alp forces his iron straw in the tender flesh on the nape of your neck and consumes every ounce of goo that gives you that hue.
Still as a spider stalking a victim caressing an urn the jinn will trap you with his grin hold you still and stabs you with a blade construed out of thunder ice when the sacrifice settles the score the jinn and blade will be no more turned to vapor the caperer wisp away as transparent nothingness.
Stumble and fall Nephilim may thump you skull and hall you off ushering away your corps making it his main source of nourishment lasting all the long day.
Long in the claw Rakshasa will devour all the power and living your dust to whisk away at dusk.
In steep of dawn best walk fast, Ifrits can smell you come neutrals all a flare your blood will make glare and with a push, you'll be gone.
3
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2 comments
Feel free to reply to any comment by clicking the "Reply" button.I once challenged someone to use "chagrin" in a poem. He did and it made such discord that he could have rhymed it with "din". At least your use is a lot smoother. ?
FrayedBear
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June 3, 2018
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