From reality
To your dreams
Something dark and unwanted
Tears at the seams
Unthreading your life
striking fear in your heart
You scream and howl
as it rips you apart
You feel it run down
it's warm and wet
It’s coming from you
it’s your blood I bet
Your heart starts to race
as it growls above you
showing rows of sharp teeth
the fear so brand new
Your life is going to end
Blown away in the air
Then you wake up
It's just a nightmare
About the Creator
Bruce Arnold
I write. It's unclear to me if I am any good so I could use feedback. Let me know if I could improve on anything. My Instagram is @kalthurduran
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Warm
Another volume for the shelves, another tale of woe. The depression of my life snakes its way through my mind and down my arm to the fingers that hold its escape. I stared at the paper, my eyes following the quick strokes of my pencil as I laid my woes into my journal. Many people had told me it would or should help after I refused to take drugs. According the psychiatrist, it was supposed to alleviate some of the stress on my mind, free my thoughts of such negativity. I never saw it as negativity, though. It was just me facing the truth that was many times avoided. Each entry had the date at the top of it and contained every “bad” thought I’d had that day. Most of them started with the insistence of my parents to take the drugs that had been prescribed for me. I refused, just as I had always done.
By Bruce Arnold6 years ago in Horror
Scary holiday house shenanigans
The year was 2016, I believe, and it was September. My family - my parents, our family dog, and I - went to France for a vacation. My mother had booked a holiday home near the French city of Obernai that looked nice in the photos. When we arrived, the landlady greeted us, though communication was difficult since she spoke little English or French while my parents and I, just 12 years old at the time, knew even less. I remember how she seemed nervous explaining that we must activate the alarm system each night and lock the doors to the lounge/winter garden with a large metal shutter that reminded me of blast doors.
By spooky session6 days ago in Poets
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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