Fake. That's what it is.
Not real, nonexistent.
That's what I tell myself as I stare at the mirror.
The mirror with a spider in its reflection.
I'm not turning around.
I won't.
Now there's two.
I have to be seeing things.
They're moving.
Towards me.
I have to turn around.
What?
Nothing.
Nothing's here.
I turn back around.
Shout. That's what I do.
They're everywhere.
The walls, the ceilings.
The door.
I'm trapped.
Dead. That's what I am.
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Blood
HorrorMark smells something strange in his shower. -----------‐------------------ A collection of short poems including Blood, Love You To Peices, and many more! Playlist credit: @SkullantacySmith
