I know better then to be here
I’ve been told
Things happen here
Bad things
Yet I am drawn
No. More like willed
I have not the power to resist
I cannot
I smell the decay
The cloying stench
Of rotting, fallen trees
Lying as if in wait
My tread but a whimper
Nothing lives here
Why am I here?
What do I seek?
The dark wood thickens as I move
Unsteady now, steps made with trepidation
I sense movement, I’m not alone
Something sinister is watching
Hollow whispers. Jumbled sounds.
Seem to move closer
Dare not look back
Fear grips me. Constricts my throat
A light. Did I see a light
Through the dark wood
I feel it. The stale breath of death
Terror overtakes me. I cannot breath
It is too late, I did not listen
The light. Brighter. Closer now
Playing with me in the dark wood
Reaching. Touching. Caressing
I hear a scream. It is me
I should not be here. I knew better
Things happen here
Bad things
Reblogged this on oldmainer.
Well, the poem grabs you, it was pretty a eerie feeling. Very vivid!
Love, Mehak
Perfect! Love it.
Crikey Bob! Get out of the woods… now!
Too late!!!! AAAARRRRGGGHHHH
*silence*
dum de dum dum
*crickets chirping*