I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Thursday, 8 October 2015

THAT WHICH IS TRULY TERRIFYING (a.k.a. National Poetry Day and Halloween: Two Red Letter Days with One Poem)

The everyday played up to expectation
and then
a turn -

People maiming themselves

quite willingly. Everything a lie,
a conspiracy on

The figure in the distance,

framed in moonlight or
sunlight, depending
on safety.

Events shrinking 

to an inevitable
Small joy - 

Little blood, 

more sweat.
A subtle, scratchy recording.
A real dead body. Significance
sharper than the knife.

Hurt by a friend's hand.

Lies waking life.

Slow boil.

Staccato tension.
It happens.

And she's dead. She's always been

dead. You just weren't looking.
but the promise goes on.

Just one jump scare. 

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