When black ink spills across the sky The time when ravens roam the heavens When the mythical beast gobbles up the sun Robbing me of the light I need to survive It becomes too dark for my preference. Pitch-black, that is how things will be like From 7.30pm all the way to beyond 12 midnight. There is nothing visible to even the best of eyes There’s a black cloth over the world tonight. It’s suffocating, my condition is airtight. I’m blindfolded, and yet I have to put up a fight Against this viral spreading absence of light I can’t take it, the dark waves are rising above my thighs I must escape before this viscous mucous takes my life I want to live, but the pitch-black, it kills my vibe I hang on to the slippery mouldy walls as my lifeline Keep my nose above this rotten pool of slime I need to get out, I don’t have much time I struggle to stretch out my hand, hoping to feel the sunshine One last time I really don’t want to drown but it engulfs me down Into its putrid belly of decaying compost In the dark, I can’t even see my fingers I feel like I’m surrounded by faceless strangers Each with shining piercing daggers for eyes, they stare They stand closely behind my back and they wait For that special moment to seal my fate The moment, somber and stark As I await for the arrival of the chariot of Sir Nyctophobia The god of the dreaded Fear of the Dark.
Poet’s Note – My personal fear of the dark since young. I bet Lord Nyctophobia is reading this over my shoulder as I type this poem in the night. Readers, be very afraid.
Semi-sweet and a little nutty. Introverted, socially awkward, but still easy-going and loves penning short legacies in poetry. Big on all things red, and passionate about music. Down-to-earth and enjoys short walks in mother nature's embrace. Smile people, today's going to be a great day. Try stuff you've never tried, go places, venture abroad and live a life you will remember.
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