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 'Inspiration In Thought'

Fright Night -- Alternate Ending

You smell his stench, and feel his breath, while in your ear he howls,
You cannot move, for he’s holding you, against his furry jowls,
He hesitates, though briefly, while his talon fingers grip,
Your exposed throat, beneath his breath, as he takes a sensual lick.

A pent-up scream now leaves your throat, yet echoes in your head,
He pulls you close, while sucking, and your flesh now quickly stains,
You silently pray that you’ll be spared, yet you know it is in vain,
For you feel his bite, though it is slight, yet your blood begins to drain.

And as he gently tears your throat, you beg for instant death,
Yet it does not come, oh no, not yet, as he savors every step,
He’s enjoying this, for he sensually moans, as his fangs sink ever deeper,
The time has come to you close your eyes, and walk with death’s grim reaper.

But a shots rings out, and he swiftly falls, but holds you close to him,
He caresses you, he knows it’s you, and he holds you close to him,
And as you draw your final breath, he whispers in your ear,
“It’s me, my love, forgive what I’ve done, and hold me ever near.”
Rusty Blackwood © 2019

~ I've often wondered what it would be like if this poem were to have an alternate ending, so I've written one. There is no written rule that states a poem, or a story must end nicely, or even partly nice. When you let your imagination take you away, especially when it is
accompanied by the eeriest season of the year, it's not difficult to come up with what I have.

I hope you enjoy 'the alternative.'

Note: Anyone wishing to read the orginal poem, Fright Night, may do so by scrolling through
my poetry index. ~ R.B.

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