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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Horror/Scary · #1605498
The hour produces the monster.
Dark spawn, denizen of the deep,
With rotting face, dripping green slime,
Gory tears the orb seems to weep,
Locks matted with rank filth and grime.

Dread slices breath, the mind won't work
Tongue clings to roof, useless and dry.
Did it see me? Is that a smirk?
What is that bizarre gurgling cry?

The mummy’s swathes loosen and slip,
Noxious presence pervades the nose,
Menacing talons curl to grip –
Fear lends wings to timorous toes.

“That's your husband running off, ma’am.
Looks like he wasn’t in the know
about our Spa's guaranteed glam.”
“I can do better, let him go!”

Day 4 - Prompt: "Monster! ~ invent a new kind of horrible for me..."

I could think of nothing more terrifying than the kind of monster that we imagine lives out there.

Four verses, tetrameter, abab rhyme.
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