I turn a corner from the pumpkin patch
And see a bridge not far from where I lie
But before I can venture too much farther
I am stopped by their gruesome cries
I see them coming now
See the flesh peeling from their face
See the numbers coming for me
As they scream their need for my taste
As they get closer I notice the details
That I never wanted to know
The grime that is caked under their shredded nails
And the stench of something unknown
I manage to run, faster than they’ll be
But I stop when I hear them cry out
I catch a glimpse of something running by
Distracting them and drawing away the crowd.
YOU ARE READING
The Valley of Unrest
PoetryThis collection of poetry will depict a hidden land of darkness and twisted reality. It may or may not have a moral or a point. I will do my best to entertain you and post frequently. Each chapter will be another element that roams or creates thi...
