Nightmare

And here I sit, mourning my all forgotten bliss
my hands are spilling out words from a nightmare,
scribble you out, and off of this page,
like a nightmare, I can't disengage.

Eyes being narrowed by fear
my palms feeling damp,
I've taken what i've had of you,
just to hide you under my bed.

You are my beast, I check upon each night,
You are the one that rustles my quaint sheets,
You cannot! It's impossible, for I have taken
your breath you cannot be.

Yet you whisper, and taunt me in my sleep,
Your marble splotched, blood stained head,
limp and dead,
Never whisper upon me ear, for I love you dear!
And when your nightmare is near, I quiver in fear,
for you're not alive, you are shivering dead.

What must I do, you're so cold and blue,
my kiss helps not, with that hole in your head that
I shot, with a smile on face, you've finally
fallen into place, hear me speak, and whisper,
You're my nightmare, my fearless little rumor.

Reviews

[Satellite Heart]

That was very good. I enjoyed reading it. Great Work!

[Diego]

Well this was a bit more morbid than I was expecting. Great poem. You build to the climax very well and close the poem wonderfully.

[armadillo]

I think this is very good but, honestly, not as good as the other two. The wording and imagery are great. Also I like what I think of in my own writing head as the punch-lines (ha to be destroyed by a literary writer here)- ...my fearless little rumour-(spelt in the English!) superb. But the poem doesnt quite do it for me as much as the other two- and thats only because poetry is subjective.