Creeping death

 

I hear a wretched sound

out on those deathly moors.

I hear a squelching noise,

but my eyes won’t adjust,

can't focus

into the creeping mist,

where only

oily shadows exist.

 

I hear it so close,

like a cut, gurgling throat,

choking on the words

that it's trying to impart.

I feel it clinching, clinging

to my cold frozen heart.

Gripping it 

and pulling the icicles out,

like fingers tearing petals

from a flower.

 

I hear it echo,

all around murmurs

almost solid, getting firmer.

Terror played in surround sound.

I can't move,

feet have grown roots.

Entangled themselves

with the very earth itself.

The shadows dance.

Encircling,

they twirl around.

Menacing.

 

I hear it.

Then I realise,

I've heard it before.

On long nights, alone.

I've heard it's rageful roar.

I've felt fear claw

at me as it paws at my door.

The palpitations,

the shortness of breath,

I've met them many a time.

Anxiety can feel

like a creeping death.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Kyle