The Guest (poem)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

A poem about being murdered

I sit alone inside my house
talking to the walls
I wonder why they seem angry
I sit and listen

my attention shifts swiftly
The door flys open
at 10 o'clock he entered
I see his face for just a second
He moves silently toward me
like a snake hungry for prey
I hear nothing
but death calling me

I can see right into his soul
as he slowly strangles me
helpless I reach out
but I cant do anything
his grip so tight
I start bleeding from the eyes

He drags my lifeless body 
and holds my head agaist the burning stove
I can smell my flesh dripping off
death is standing in the corner

I still hear nothing but his laughter
as my head gets beat into the wall
over and over
It crushes 
Blood running down like water
He is through with me
Helpless I remain
As I start to choke on my own blood
My neck snaps like a twig in his hands

Submitted: April 26, 2012

© Copyright 2022 First Strike Is Deadly. All rights reserved.

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