Should I stay? Or go?
It started behind a curtain of dark
It was just there quiet, hiding,
Pacing back and forth, like a blind lark
Obsessing me; strange - it was sighing.
Time passes more quickly now
Cicadas chirping loudly every night,
And I feel it coming closer - how?
I am suddenly losing all my might.
The walls in my house are moldy
Knocking and sounds come to me,
Outside, eerie trees look foggy
And a constant noise in my head like a bee.
A confusion in my mind
I become scared and feel like screaming,
What is there I might find
Should I know - or am I just dreaming?
In 1912 the house was built fast
Heavy pieces of furniture carried in,
After that, it all started - alas!
A midnight dark mist was within.
I think it wants me into the wall
Or better, under its structure,
Hovering me to belong, but - I stall,
I tell myself I am not a creature.
Why am I still here; I could easily go
But the true account is that I own it,
How is that I can't reveal what I know
If I dare talk I will be gone; every bit,
Out of respect for the dead
I feel that I am now quite dead indeed,
I am not in a grave nor in my bed
I'm outside somewhere, held deep.
Poor poor silly me
Fear and endless faint trumping,
Oh I took fear of thee
And down the window I went, rumbling.
Silly silly me Oh yes
To think I am alive and well,
This is how you rot, I guess
When your own scent you can smell.
It took me ... that dark
It takes you - you cannot stop it at all,
It comes no matter what
Footsteps approaching you, and you fall.
So I tell you my story, dear reader
Don't try to escape the big, sick dark,
Neither raindrops nor thunder stops it - it's a leader
When you are trapped - you embark.
It is a terrible thing to look at oneself
How can one forget something as essential as that,
How does one forget a death of - yourself?
Without my body, nothing, no habitat.
We make our ghosts out of ourselves - look!
The dark makes you know it first, and waits calmly,
Lives till the end of it enough to fill a book
You poor thing, it takes you away - fiercely.
Now I see nothing, only the death dark
But I think a little longer I will stay,
To know if I am myself or the black dark
Or a thought, a whisper, a soul; a prey?
Word Count: 441