This Old House


Late at night while you’re snuggled in a warm cozy bed,
Your creaky old house will cry out to be fed.
It pops and it cracks, it moans and groans,
and it won’t be happy ‘til it dines on your bones.

Some houses are sturdy, some old, and some new,
“Home Sweet Home” to what’s after you.
From the oak trees outside to the walk made of stone,
Don’t think that your house will just leave you alone.

“I’m hearing things,” at least, that’s what you say,
even while death is but a heartbeat away.
It moves closer now as it creeps into your room.
In the darkness, it scurries and hurries your doom.

Your body is tense, there’s no place to hide,
as you hear heavy breathing right by your side.
You pull up the covers, you cower in fright,
There’s a deathly scream in the middle of the night.

When people pass by and look at the place,
they’ll see your old house with a smile on its face.
In a bundle of blankets left on the floor,
lies the book you were reading and nothing more.

"This Old House" 

Abnormalities


Draped in darkness and knocking at Death’s door,
reality leaves off and madness begins;
down twisted streets paved with human skulls
to the City of the Dead.

It is built upon the communal decay of the dearly departed,
who endlessly toil in barren gardens filled with cobwebs, memories, and whispered reminiscence,
among crouched buildings collapsed in huddles of rotting roofs and toppled steeples,
and perverse abnormalities of flesh and bone.

The city looms stark and queerly proportioned, leaning at perilous angles against a jagged and festered sky;
its blight-shadowed structures made of squalor and petrification,
spew an overwhelming smell of wet earth, worms, and death,
as sightless and silent as an unnatural stillness of night that will never end.

I saw someone come down along the road.
among the crumbling buildings and stench-cursed streets;
walking beneath the blasphemous decapitated steeple of an ancient black church
that held the twisted face of a clock with no hands.

A humped man, he was, with a gait so familiar that it pained me,
an unspeakable menace more disquieting than the dismal architecture.
I felt his hollow stare burrow into my flesh, his eyes gaping like dark windows into my past
and stealing the very warmth from my blood.

Then as he approached,
I saw it was . . . me.

"Abnormalities" 


HAPPY HALLOWEEN!