drought

it is often i wonder, when the demons will strike
at night i wake up in cold sweat, my head yet to be on a pike
how id love to be wrong, how i pray to be safe
for you see, ive woken from a sound outside my door
and not from the visions in my mind

 slowly i step out of bed
rather than pull sheets over my head
i have a need
to confront this beast, to face it right on
one to one with no more waiting
no more debating my time

 before i can stand, the door creaks open
breath hitches in my throat, im only left hoping
that this isnt a mistake, that i havent sealed my fate

 for years ive slid under my blanket
hiding and waiting for the monsters to move on
but now that ive decided
with attention attentive, nothing divided
i think…
i think ive made the wrong choice

 the door still glides open, a deathly chill slinking in
the smell of decay, and to my dismay?
there is nothing insight.
nothing to see, and yet my hair stands on end
from what is there to defend?

 and thats when i hear it
plastic, it sounds like, as i slip from my room.
daddy is home, and i must assume
that hes been out again, another body exhumed

 and here i thought someone had found out…
how my family and me eat through this drought.

Author's Note

nov 16th 2014