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Memories of the Dread
Warning: Includes descriptions of violence and gore.
Breezy Iceberg that crawls up the unseen, perhaps the intrusion of reality kept us awake. Flowers forgot to bloom, yet hands of crimson palms or the illusions that cradle and devour my brains.
Blinded eyes, tears of lush redness, or perhaps the squishy flesh that poured out his ribs. The skeleton walked out of the graveyard, whooshing down the slippery slope. It's desperate crunching for my quivering lips of terror.
Its dreadful whispers "Shh" refuse the painful voices to blow. His greedy hands slid their way downwards, caressing my cheeks while swallowing a deep lumpy throat down my neck. His slimy ruby hands tug the throat upwards; the unseen that made me freeze and shiver now erupts with a scream.
The power of emotions and brains reveals our imagination in front of our sight, yet refuses to seek the other. Perhaps illusions or
hallucinations, but truthful to reality. I think I am losing my mind. Its invasion now shivers our spine.
His slimy hands tug my crimson throne backwards, viciously wishing the unknown to live in silence, separating my fearful visage from my bloody body.
Blood pours down from the broken throat, or the body that splashes organs of our own possession. The still blood flows down the rabbit hole. The creature envelopes itself toward the ground, a destination stayed. Its pages rotten yet haunted -a visage that lies open to reality, awakens, and then asleep. The only secret "Memories of the dread" still remains on its page with the rotten bloody cranium.
© Waverywaves
Breezy Iceberg that crawls up the unseen, perhaps the intrusion of reality kept us awake. Flowers forgot to bloom, yet hands of crimson palms or the illusions that cradle and devour my brains.
Blinded eyes, tears of lush redness, or perhaps the squishy flesh that poured out his ribs. The skeleton walked out of the graveyard, whooshing down the slippery slope. It's desperate crunching for my quivering lips of terror.
Its dreadful whispers "Shh" refuse the painful voices to blow. His greedy hands slid their way downwards, caressing my cheeks while swallowing a deep lumpy throat down my neck. His slimy ruby hands tug the throat upwards; the unseen that made me freeze and shiver now erupts with a scream.
The power of emotions and brains reveals our imagination in front of our sight, yet refuses to seek the other. Perhaps illusions or
hallucinations, but truthful to reality. I think I am losing my mind. Its invasion now shivers our spine.
His slimy hands tug my crimson throne backwards, viciously wishing the unknown to live in silence, separating my fearful visage from my bloody body.
Blood pours down from the broken throat, or the body that splashes organs of our own possession. The still blood flows down the rabbit hole. The creature envelopes itself toward the ground, a destination stayed. Its pages rotten yet haunted -a visage that lies open to reality, awakens, and then asleep. The only secret "Memories of the dread" still remains on its page with the rotten bloody cranium.
© Waverywaves
