I keep seeing them move, the shadows
And I cant' help but wonder if it's him
If it's the madman, my personal grim reaper,
Finally coming for me
Or if I'm simply losing my mind.
I hate these sleepless nights, it's the worst kind of torture,
Not knowing if it's him you're hearing
Or if the swaying shadows are about to lunge for the kill
Or even if you'll see the morning sun.
It's torture not even being safe in your mind
Because he's there every time you close your eyes
And every time you picture his eyes, his smile, his face
You know he's longing for your death.
Waiting, that is what's maddening
Some nights you'd rather he just end this constant suffering,
End the torment,
Rather than go on another day in life, agonized.
That is the gift the madman has given you
Constantly aware of the hovering death,
The end of all the pain and all the restless nights,
And never knowing when it will fall to engulf you
To end it's longing for your life
Comments
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sort of reminds me of "afraid of the dark', yet another good piece by you. great job w the imagery E
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Thanks, I just write what I see in my head. You know I can only paint a good picture with my words
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I love your word choice in this piece. It's got great imagery.
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thank you. But is that good or bad? I'm not always sure
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