It's late at night Almost witching hour And the silence
Rebound
He was supposed to be dead But there he stood with sightless eyes Still in the clothes we buried him in
It was All a Dream
She startled awake And screamed herself hoarse As she rocked in the corner
Buried Alive
Dirt in my mouth Nowhere to spit it out The dirt keeps pouring it
Jump Scare
Seems a bit Like a horror movie I keep waiting
Painted in Blood
This house is built on cruelty To its very foundation No amount of cleaning
The Times has Come
Angel of death waits patiently She need not rush No appointment is ever missed
Pulling the Right Strings
The devil on my shoulder Knows just the right words To cause me to doubt myself
Cold Deity
Howling to the moon She stares back Coldly and does not respond
Blackout #226
Practical people weary of no purpose.
Fragment of a Figment 