Creepy hotel,
northern town.
During daylight hours
it all seems normal
but after night-time falls,
It doesn't make
any sense to all.
Down one flight of stairs,
up three more,
maze like corridors.
where is my door?
Creepy hotel
near the Yorkshire moors.
Walking down twisting corridors,
like slipping through
a seeping mist of slime,
you turn a corner
and face the same corridor,
you've walked a thousand times.
Grotesque moans
echo through the bones
of these old rooms,
doorways like gravestones,
marking the place of old ruins.
Creepy hotel.
In the dead of night.
Outside the banshees howl,
loud enough
to give the devil a fright
and I am still traipsing
the same hallways,
the rickety staircase.
The creak it makes
when your foot dares
to touch its carpeted face.
The thud of my heartbeat
and the whistle of panting breath,
form an orchestra with the
creeping sound of death
Creepy hotel,
I've been walking for hours.
The same passageways,
the same endless towers.
By day it seemed
mere seconds away,
but at night
the ghostly architects
have been out to play.
I sway,
on the aching balls of my feet
as the lingering fear chills my blood
and into bones it seeps.
I reach a door, turn the handle
and I spy myself asleep on the bed.
As I'm dragged back
into the corridors of the dead.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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