A shrill scream echoes within the frost ridden night,
Darker than the blackest pitch, it caresses the lone boy,
Foul suffering reeks atop the wilting branches of the willow tree,
He fears but does not breathe, he waits but does not know,
Each step is mush and the air is muggy and thick,
In his mind he cries out, his lips are stitched,
His voice is locked away within a rusted over safe,
Perspiration beads upon his brow and fear creeps down his back in a trail of desperation,
A demon of the dark rustles among his surroundings,
His heart pounds violently like hands on a clock,
His soulless eyes drown in tears due to the wretched stench of the ground beneath,
Breath after breath he grows more nauseous,
His thoughts cease to exist, his mind dies off,
His body jolts and he crash lands on sunken in ground,
The creature of the night lures, circling his boundaries,
And waiting for the right moment to attack,
Each beat of his heart paces to a slower rhythm,
He can no longer see, breathe, hear, taste, smell, let alone be,
Memories flood his mind, the one thing left, the uncontrolled, a timeline of melancholy,
He grasps them as best he can, holds them close, fearing to lose,
He is latched onto them tightly like the beast’s teeth grounded into his blood soaked leg,
It’s not enough,
A swingset, a mama, a daddy, a happy life,
All being taken as evil caresses him singing its sweet hypnotic lullaby,
The beast lays awake in the night,
Feeding, Lurking, Killing, Searching,
It’s unsoundly, It’s the hell built in our visions,
Mistaken for rejoice,
It’s not healing, It’s hurting.