I am
your nightmare
the phantasm
that bites bare
leaving holes in the
saran wrap the smothers
you in your dreams.
I'm the Gothic monster,
the dark wizard
plying my grand-grinning
schemes.
I'm the dark headless Hessian
patrolling your deepest forest.
(I'm, no longer in the distance, but approaching,
do you see me? Do you, yet feel, the horror?)
I seek your breathing,
your life-blood is
worth scheming.
Oooohhhh, how
I'd love to sip-sup you in,
in greedy black
torrents.
I own the all-worlds
of waking and sleep.
And, I have pick-quick hands
so greedy for my little sweets.
Your slim throat will be
a fine-ready catch to share
for all of my
ghostly-soul, mist-planing fiends.
We will suckle you in
like the vacuum-lost,
into our wallow-land
from which you can't crawl
out. We will make of you
such satisfying saucy-sauce.
Tisk-tisk, how you've paid the cost, but
wheeee this was soooooooo much fun!
A scream?
Oh dearest, newly-dead, darling...
Was that you?
Copyright November 1, 2013
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells
Meloo Tilt-a-World
a very quick write directly to the page
partially inspired by a great/grand little picture book
by Avery Monsen and Jory John called "All my friends are Dead."
