Baiting The Book

My fascination with the dark is a result of too much coffee and waiting in lines at the cinema. Then graduating to books and talking to shadows before the leakage of my ink. Gruesome is in the mind's inkwell, baiting the spine of the scary bones. One cannot have curds and whey unless the boogeyman is invited with a stiletto to slice into a pork rib sandwich of gothic mayhem.  
 
One thing led to another before pushing mama over the edge of my insanity's awakening as I butchered, Baa, Baa, Black sheep, thinking it was the early worms in my dreams. I last saw mama, pushing up my sister Daisy. Without a shovel to call her own.  
 
Now my mind rages with sluts and dildos. Coming in from out of the rain. But the good times are when I count ten and leap from my dreams.