(see) how you cry-out
his truth is not
convoluted
he has his purpose
for which you
are suited.
fear is far better,
tastier,
when its concentrated.
p-pah-pah-power...
sh-sh-shivers traveling up
the slippering of cooled skin
maybe its best to notify your next
of kin...
he's not a Shaman
supping on your sufferings
and memorizing all their
patternings
see how see how
he's in the distance
now, closing in...
s-suh-suh-sighing
aaahhh-his jaw sinks deeply in.
sweet sweat of fear provokes,
provides
bright shiny vit-a-mins
for the high high priest.
he suckles them in before
the orange sun rises
beckoning from
the East.
p-pah-pah-power
gah-gah-grinding a-tween his
t-tee-tee-teethy-teeth.
so sharply sythe-serrated
supah-dupah-extra-sensory-pro-rated
squealing-screaming as you are
fah-fah-feeling his
p-pah-pah-power.
Copyright October 24, 2013
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells
Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World
Hot Damn Its Nearly Halloween
Vote for this poem
|