The Wicked Come

The blackened room,

 Sat in the  gloom.

 A tap drips slow

 Floor creaks below,

 In dead of night,

 Rose eerie sight.

 A yellow mist,

 Clawed and hissed,

 Drip, drip, drip…

 

 Hot steam creeping,

 Water seeping,

Covering all,

 In steamy shawl…

 Woken from sleep

 Through steam you creep,

 Cursing the flood,

 Hear  water thud,

 Drip, drip, drip….

 

 Grey mist clears,

Mirror leers,

 Take a chance,

 A furtive glance.

 Pale girl staring,

 Red eyed, glaring,

 Wild, banshee screams.

 Silver knife gleams…

 Drip, drip, drip….

 

 Slumped on floor,

 To breathe no more,

 He lies alone.

She flies home.

To wait once more

At deaths door

 For whispered name,

To begin the game

 As peaceful again,

 Outside the rain,

Goes, drip, drip, drip.

 

By

Rainbow Reed ©2010

 

Love.... By Echo V. Hawthorne

I'm afraiiiiiid.... By Emily

I don’t think there is a one of your poems I’ve read that I can’t relate to in one way or another I guess great minds think a like its’ like you are my kindred spirit when you put  pen to paper when I don’t know how to I’m glad I’m not the only twisted deep dark mystical creature out here Thanks another vivid twisted poem…By Ravenluna69