Tuesday, November 19, 2019


Lurking in the shadows you can feel it waiting there
A clandestine sensation waiting for a chance to tear
A sinister and sickly voice that knows to smell your fear
A killer rush and phantom waiting till you’re not aware

And as the delicate waves muster it offers a warning song
The icy fingers trace the paths of flesh and nerve and bone
And though it has not stricken you anticipate the pain
And clench the fist and teeth know resistance is in vain.

Perhaps it would be better to tear off offending part
To rip from your body and let healing finally start
But impotent you sit and wait, knowing the time is near
And with the slightest fire the wave touches your primal fear.

A slow motion explosion, ripping, tearing of the bone
Red hot hydraulic cylinders expanding, up they grow
Convulsing pulses of sensations full of fire and heat
And boiling terror grips, body rigid head to feet.

In time the fog will lift and it will fade into the din
Of ten thousand synapsed messages that scream but cannot win

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