On my pillow, I lay my head.
Awaiting Doom, drenched in dread.
Then with a screech, awake the dead.
They pace about with outstretched claws,
Death red daggers in snapping jaws,
Saliva drips from foaming maws.
Their eyes aglow with deadly glee,
They're pleased to come and torment me,
It's not the average killing spree.
They brandish not sharp swords of steel,
but Thoughts dipped in poison wells.
They pierce with truths not real.
My injured heart swells,
My peace it steals,
My head reels.
It's, well,
Swell.
