Creep For YouA Poem by Gene Von BanyardStop, children, what’s that sound? Why it’s the dead clawing their way through rotten coffin and distended earth, flesh falling free by the wayside guided on by the dead-sight that has pin-pointed their prey so, what are you going to do, when the dead come creeping for you? What are you going to do? When the dead come creeping for you! Shake of this mortal coil and follow a dead line down a diseased track, a matter of no fact, a fucked up face, a mortal disgrace stares lop-sided back at you but, the mirror will not crack? There is no heart to attack, so what compels you? What drives you? Is it the emptiness of the shell left no notion of you? What are you going to do? When the dead come creeping for you! Separate and disparate of your gruesome reflection, a re-interred perception, but, what hurts you the most, the inverted cross rammed down your septic throat, is that death come to greet you, to drool for you, a guide through the slime, a forgotten conception of no-time, can you hear the clocks chime? What are you going to do? When the dead come creeping for you! When death is not an escape for you. © 2015 Gene Von BanyardFeatured Review
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