The Death-mare

by Adam Steele


Just a little tid-bit poem to get it out of my head. Enjoy.

Is that the sound of thunder that you've heard or are the dreams that are disturbed?

The crime involved in realism is what you could have done when the dreams astound you to get up and run.

The circle of force is maddening distain. The thunder of course burned holes into your sane. Where the destruction lies is the part of the mind that is puzzled in shame.

Where are they now, in heaven or in hell? Purgatory is only holding onto the shell when the death-mare comes to gather up where the darkness holds all well.

Night terrors never bargain for the death-mare when scene play out like they are there in real, gripping your blanket ever tight when the death-mare smiles with no integrity to be polite.

The crime is inside, playing out where all can't hide. Night Terrors are the weak when the death-mare comes to lift you off where you sleep. Where you go is coincidence to the horror that holds.

There are no monsters here but the monsters inside and rip you into fear. Play the tone slightly and they take you forth like the car crash of doom that is fulfilled and in hold. Rip out your head and implant it anew with the death-mare wishes that this is slow and this is cruel and new.

They sleep and some never reply to the death-mare that they went through when they died in their sleep that felt so real that they wondered if they died after they awoke to sight their eyes to the mirror. The mirrors are all around them now, looking to see the wounds that are not there when the death-mare smiles to nothing that is compared. The death-mare played games once again, taking hold and filling voids with cruelty that it loves to impose.

Do you enter the death-mare state at night past the night terrors? Few will know the death-mare as it swallows you whole.

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