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Undead
Undead
I see them, every night they come for me.
Every night they come to steal me away,
angry crimson eyes burn with hate like suns
so malevolent they pierce into me.
I quell with fear as they inspect my soul.
Then I notice the smell, putrid and ripe,
so gangrenous and fresh with pestilence.
As rotten as their bodies with their flesh
turning to dust, their slow and steady stroll
towards me, with their deceptive steel grip.
Every night they come and they capture me,
and they chain me to their altar of pain.
All I remember is the pouring rain
and perverse grunts of pleasure, defilement.
I try to wake from this horrible dream.
but I can't so I lie and cry and scream
but forced down against the table I wait
until it's over when, black and broken,
I lift my face and everyone has gone.
I lie in my bed under a quilt not
chained. On a mattress not stone. And no pain.
Only memory.
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