Estimated reading time — 1 minute
Pitter patter, on the pane,
Pitter patter, once again,
Pitter patter, how I strain,
Pitter patter, but no rain.
What so does tread my halls,
Humming low with crooning calls,
Succubae or hellish thralls,
Why for do they tread my halls?
No creak yet disturbs this floor,
No shadows flit beneath the door,
My breath will hold no second more,
Content they seem for now with her.
So frail and failed the loosened cry,
Harsh and drawn the deadened thud,
And now nil remains but I,
A lowly pawn amidst the blood.
Dull crunches fill my coward’s ears
As all I love is torn asunder,
What use have I for earthly fears
What frightens now in rolling thunder.
Pray I the stairs avoid their gaze,
I pray my whimpers pass them by,
Pray I no lust in recess lays,
For further flesh… pray I.
My ears await the hollow sound,
Of plodding steps upon the stairs,
the keyhole and my eye are bound,
I utter nought but silent prayers.
Creaks clamour along the flight,
Hauling darkness hewn in hell,
Wan and ashen, twisted blights,
Shuffle and scratch before my cell.
Tattered snouts snort the air,
Yellowed nails like daggers scrape,
Bloodied teeth gnash and bare,
in wretched maws wide agape.
One is like a dream I’ve known,
turned nightmarish in the gloom,
Blonde locks, like clumps are sewn,
A mere mockery of her boon.
Is that my love, no, no more.
But a glint betrays her band,
I know each mark, and every score,
For I placed it on her hand.
I think my walls home no more,
Im borne beyond in dogged fear,
A grubby note slips through the door,
“I miss you, do you miss me dear?”
Credit: Philip Courtney