Ghost house

 

This is the ghost house.

Where terrifying dreams

drift through the walls.

Chains rattle and break

when darkness falls.

It's a place where your last breath is gurgled.

Where you feel encircled by those blinking eyes.

It's the place

where you are fated to die.

 

This is the ghost house.

Your final resting place,

where nightmares chase,

breaking through sleep's peaceful embrace.

Where the chattering of skeletal voices

clatter through the grinding, humming noises.

 

Nightmares are sowed,

seeds of horror grow.

Seas of dread flow,

in this place where terror

is your only bedfellow.

 

This is the ghost house.

Try to outrun the guttural breathing.

Cover your ears to protect yourself.

It won't help. 

The walls are bleeding.

Hide beneath the covers,

the duvet your sanctuary

but not today.

This place will be the death of you

and you will become one of the hosts

another ghost roaming these rooms.

Luring others to their fateful tombs.

 

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle