Into These Nights We Cry

Reads: 96  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Written for a girl who dreamt of me

Submitted: January 25, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 25, 2019

A A A

A A A


The glass screen door shudders with every word spoken with reproach

Plaster heads on spindles vomit profusely at every ignorant and apathetic voice

The record player skipping… skipping... skipping over all the most triumphant acts of this opera

As the city lights weep lonely tears of liquid illumination into the already flooding streets

The quiet watchers wearily seeking to recover all souls lost in these city alleyways

And the window pane sweating nervously to conceal the secrets held within its dingy domain

Patrol cars weaving between the masses of dreamers drunk on idealism dispensing shattered glass smiles

And the newspaper stands push droll pieces on the scandals of the foreign sheep herder's daughter

Young girls in bright dresses dissolve in a thicket of cold black hands forever thirsting for day light's warmth

Dusty shadow walkers creep and sink steadily into a mad fit as they stuff the perfumes of yesterday's patrons into tiny coin sized pockets

The whitewashed picket fences loom over a garden of rotting vegetables screaming out into the night their pitiful agony

Debaucherous cravens swallow up the moonlight stuffing their gullet to ease the tidal shift

The tiles blood stain red in the dining hall hosted feasts of overly decadent gluttons

At least the clocks are ticking... backwards, with time slipping right back into your hands

Tick... Tick... Tick

Reliving each moment as the twisted projector reel turns ever so violently reliving each moment with excruciating detail

The film was bleached in surrealist river banks of your carved out mind, corrupted in your very distaste

As for myself, I steal the sorrowful young girls’ dreams and write them into works

Once the needle falls and your ears perforated by the sounds let the little Salvador Dali in your head paint your nightmare scape

Wake up! Wake up!

And scream my name as a broken and terrified child would

So that I may not hear you, for I am miles away loosening myself upon some unfortunate unsuspecting victim

Cry, cry, cry yourself back to sleep

Let this terror caress you gently, whispering, "Do not frighten, all is as it should ever be"

For you are merely alone, always have been and death is the only company you shall keep

Fall back into his arms and pray you wake no longer child


© Copyright 2019 August West. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: