December 27, 2009
By Anonymous

The death of me is what I see
Through my tortured eyes
The way you look at me
You see through my disguise
Surely I’m not crazy
Surely I can’t see
The burning walls of fire
The ashes of debris
The bodies that are buried
Beneath the floor, in the walls
The woven blackened eyes
Of ancient voodoo dolls
The axes and the knives
That dwell in our basement
I go down the stairs
Embrace the threat of defacement
Lock the doors, close the windows
Before they get inside
Quickly find a hiding spot
Before you say goodbye
They come for us
For nothing we have done
I shake in my pure terror
For they have won
But in all everything is right
Everything is true
Please forgive my articulation
My eyes see more than you
Don’t look at them
Not even a glance
Trust me when I say
It’s your only chance
Those things you call shadows
Are not illusions
Real entities
Cause your confusion
So please listen
At least a little
I’m different from others
Not human, not immortal
But in the middle
Don’t fear me
And my wrath
Or the ranting of this psychopath

The author's comments:
This is one of my older poems, so it's probably not that great.

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