It's a cold winter day,
and I'm sitting on my front porch steps.
I lost the keys again, and my mother's upset.
She doesn't get off work till seven,
and our neighbors have just left for vacation.
I realize it's getting dark now,
so I sit and stare at the frozen scene.
A couple minutes pass,
and my arms scatter with goosebumps.
Only this time, I can't blame the chilling weather.
I look up to see a dark figure,
holding a dripping, dark red dagger.
YOU ARE READING
Gentle Screams and Glass Figurines
شِعر"Nothing can protect us from the human screams, as the fire of anarchy intoxicates our once innocent minds." ~~~~~~ A collection of poems about life, death, and everything in between. Dark, deep, and horror poetry intended to make you think abou...
