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Dreadful Tales
Writing alone in dark with candle light.
It’s horrifying, tales are filled with gore,
It whispers to me gives me frights,
And how I wish I could write no more.
These dreaded tales of world no more,
Piles of paper I stack on my desk, Filled with scenes of what is grotesque,
Is it good now or was it good before.
Typing away the gloomy cold,
Fingers turning to mold.
Bats, spiders and a human eating worm,
Chasing around with their ungold germ.
Dreaming of places far from dread,
Sitting alone with my horrible thoughts,
I wish monsters were dead.
I think this is end of the life, once sought.
© LoneWolf
It’s horrifying, tales are filled with gore,
It whispers to me gives me frights,
And how I wish I could write no more.
These dreaded tales of world no more,
Piles of paper I stack on my desk, Filled with scenes of what is grotesque,
Is it good now or was it good before.
Typing away the gloomy cold,
Fingers turning to mold.
Bats, spiders and a human eating worm,
Chasing around with their ungold germ.
Dreaming of places far from dread,
Sitting alone with my horrible thoughts,
I wish monsters were dead.
I think this is end of the life, once sought.
© LoneWolf
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