POEMS
...from the 'pen' of CHRIS GREGORY  
 

 

 
 

IT
by Chris Gregory

The creature curled up next to my bed,

Tightly wrapped in cracking skin,

Sleeps with one eye open and waits

it picFor the time of night

When we wrestle

 

I am a bag of bones.

Knuckles crack, I shiver.

The pillows are stones,

The white sheets crack like ice cold

Whispers catching breath

 

So I get out of bed, I stagger

Towards its warmth

Then we roll

And we roll

And we roll

 

Bright morning light makes it wither

With a low-pitched scream

As the first Delicate sunbeam kisses its

Distorted face

 

But then it reappears in the mirror

And leers back,

A cold gleam

In its eye.

It gently raises the razorblade

And tilts back my head.

 

COPYRIGHT CHRIS GREGORY (C) 1999-2002 - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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