“Death”. The word seems to come alive, grab my throat and push me to the floor. The garage becomes a carnival and the sunlight peeking in through the small windows turns to strobing roller coaster bulbs. I am bound to a Ferris Wheel riding a black horse. I’m psychotic. I have to be. Maybe mental illness runs in the family and I am just finding out 30 years too late. This can’t be true. It just can’t.
By Soul6 years ago in Horror
Thick blood is pouring out the gashes in my face. I need to find somewhere safe to hide. I hear heavy footsteps and people shouting my name angrily. If they find me, I won’t have much time. Today is my predicted death. But I refuse for that to be my destiny. I have 10 hours left. I will survive. For her.
By Soul6 years ago in Futurism
I. I know one day, I’ll give thanks to this harsh winter that has washed over me like acid, asked me for sin as a compensation for not killing me,
By Soul6 years ago in Poets
