deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Horror Inside

[center]Silence

The tension in the room,
so tangible,
you're able to hold it in your hands.
That prickly feeling,
at the base of your spine,
that you can't stand.

The hairs on your neck,
stand at the cold rush.
You want to scream,
but you hold it in as much.

No noise,
not a sound,
just the ticking of the clock.
You know some one's there,
that you can't see it,
plotting to attack.

Just watching you,
observing you,
like a predator,
loving the way you cringe,
at the dropping of the
room's tempreture.

The muteness of the air,
the hearing of,
the beating of, your own pulse.
The pale staleness
in mouth,
running out,
of your skin, on impulse.

The quiet solitude,
taking it's toll.
Your head is breaking,
aching,
as the demon behind you
drools to reap your soul.

Just kidding,
maybe he's not behind you,
maybe he's beside you,
infront of you,
uptop,
down low.
You may never know.

Scared yet?
No?
Well, just turn of the light,
and listen to the silence. [/center]