The day was long and the night grew cold,
The bread was stale and the wine was old,
The curtains were drawn and painted in red,
And I snubbed out my candle as I lay in bed,
The wind howled loudly, rocked the house to and fro,
My eyes grew heavy and my breathing grew slow,
And just before I travelled to a dream in my head,
There appeared a small child by the foot of my bed,
She did not smile, and she did not laugh,
She took me by the hand, and we walked to the bath,
She pointed to the tub, cause that's where she died,
I sat in the corner and tried not to cry,
I drowned her right there six years to the day,
And year after year she wakes me to say.
"You could've loved me daddy; why kill me instead?"
I pound my large fists on the sides of my head,
You're not real, I mutter, under my breath,
She's come here for me, she's only brought death,
A crooked smile then appears on her face,
He skin peels back and melts with no trace,
She's blackened like tar and her hands become knives,
She goes for my throat, she only takes lives,
I try not to fight it, the knives pierce my skin,
And then I wake up, knowing not where I've been,
And outside it's daytime, the curtains are drawn,
My wife lays beside me, and I greet the dawn,
The dream may have ended, as I stand at the sink,
is that her behind me, or did I just blink?
For many years I have poured my thoughts and ideas, onto paper and scraps of card. But now, for the first time ever, I will release my pent up mind juice onto the pages of this Blog.
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