Knock
Knock
Knock
There was a knock at the door
But I couldn't open it, not anymore
I was shivering beneath the desk.
The young king of Hell.
A broken wasted mess.
Knock
Knock
Knock
I was shaking from head to toe.
I wanted to cry out. I wanted to go home.
A creak emerged from the dark.
I was left with no remarks.
trembling and shaking as the footsteps drew near.
I let out a prayer to a man I oh so feared.
Step.
Step.
Step.
I gripped my bloodied sword.
The guilt in my stomach squirmed.
I was terrified to move.
I wanted to go home.
Stop.
I let out a cry for my dad, as a knife cuts through my chest-
It burns it aches, it hurts with all my sins.
I've run out of luck.
Then I wake up.
YOU ARE READING
The Story Of The Red King
Poesia"Our Former King Harold Dawson recites his time as king through poetry" The Red King is a "children's" poetry book taking place inside the world of Hellbent following the tales of Harold Dawson and his past.
