The Red Man

I was writing a story, and this spawned from that.

The man in red

Stands at the end

Of my bed

Waiting and watching

With eyes of sorrow,

He holds out his hand.

“Take it,” he says.

I never can.

Days he comes,

Days he goes.

No matter what,

I always know:

The man in red

Will always return.

Beware, beware, the man in red,

Standing at the end of my bed.

With bloodshot eyes,

And a gaze that lies,

He watches me,

He waits for me.

Beware, beware, the man in red,

Standing at the end of my bed.

With a smile so tender,

And a presence so slender,

He watches me,

He waits for me.

Beware, beware, the man in red.

He stood at the end of my bed.

He watched me,

He waited for me,

Beware, beware, the man in red,

Standing at the end of your bed.