The Horror of It.

I see my friend dimly lit in the hall.

I go to them, fighting to keep the anguish at bay.

Only adrenaline keeps me going,

And the terror that I know looms ahead.

 

Oh, the abject horror of it.

Furious eyes reflect back at me,

And threatening claws inch closer and closer.

I am paralyzed by the fiendish smirk

That spoke of a deep, unsettling pleasure.

 

There my friend lay by the shattered mirror,

And I ran from the terror.

A shadow of my past, that horror follows close behind.

 

 

 

*What is horror in poetry? This writing is an exploration of this question. Happy Halloween!

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