The bearer of bad news.
Like an old friend who has always been out to get me.
It creeps back and a chill is driven through my bones.
I hear noises in the dark,
They whisper a solemn oath.
You live in fear of the vocalization.
Your speech slurs as you tremble.
You're faced with their utter of melancholy.
I am overcome with nostalgia,
As I have recognition of the whispers.
I hold these voices in my memory and do not forget,
The monsters that hid under my bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment