The Nightmare Man

the nightmare man

I get back home to find a long white man in my kitchen.
I ask him who he is
And what he is doing there.
The long white man shows me his long white teeth.
‘I am the nightmare man,’ he says
And claps his hands.

My kitchen bleeds. Every surface leaks vermilion.
Cupboards weep crimson cataracts onto the linoleum and
On the lamp above me brown blood frizzles and blisters.
I gaze at him with wild and breathless eyes
As scarlet spatters his white suit.
He surveys me with calm contempt.
A splash of gore soaks my face and I scream.
Laughing, he claps his hands again.
The blood recedes.

Water hisses into the room. It comes up to my feet.
I look at the man. He smiles impassively.
Up to my shins.
I try the door. It is locked.
It is now past my thighs. I scream expletives at the man and he smiles back.
I am floating.
Floating.
Desperately treading water.
Water hisses and the man smiles and I float.
My head hits the ceiling. My world is water.
I flail kick thrash flounder struggle whirl. Care-free scream-bubbles wobble past my face.
It is over. All fades to white.

A single clap echoes through my head. Spluttering, I am wrenched back into the world.

It is a week later and the man has not left.
I do not see him but I know he is there.
I smell his cigarette smoke, tidy up his sandwich-crusts, hear him running his bath.
And now and then I find maggots clogging my toaster, or my sink oozes a thick yellow
My milk curdles as I drink it
Or the handle of the cupboard-door burns fat white welts onto my fingers
And I know the man is somewhere nearby
Laughing quietly as he plays his nightmare-games.

I really like this poem...its slightly disturbing, but that didn't bother me so much becuase it is well written, and tells an interesting story. your descriptions were very vivid, and i could see the whole thing happening in my head. well done.

That was really gross.

-Jared

PS: Oh! I'm supposed to critique this too? Okay. I might as well.

I liked this. It was really bloody, gory and all that fun stuff. It's like Sweeney Todd, all wrapped up into one poem.

I like the feelings that I get when I read this. Right here:

Water hisses into the room. It comes up to my feet.
I look at the man. He smiles impassively.
Up to my shins.
I try the door. It is locked.
It is now past my thighs. I scream expletives at the man and he smiles back.
I am floating.
Floating.
Desperately treading water.
Water hisses and the man smiles and I float.
My head hits the ceiling. My world is water.
I flail kick thrash flounder struggle whirl. Care-free scream-bubbles wobble past my face.
It is over. All fades to white.

gives me the feeling that you want me to get. Claustrophobia. Drowning. That's why I think this poem works.

One thing that I did notice is that you don't use a lot of expression. I don't know how to explain it. Everything is told like a story. Poems aren't stories. Sorta... Um. Take for instance.

I danced in yellow flowers.

Pretend like this is your poem. It's okay. Not spectacular.

I swivled and turned
dizzied myself through the endless
piles of yellow flowers.

You see how the second one is more descriptive, more fun and better? That's what your poem could be. If you edit this at all, PM me about it. I liked it, and I want to read more.

-Jared

PPS: You're lucky. I rarely ever critique poetry.

Yah. This is a pretty gross poem. But exciting too. I'm about to eat supper...eeww.
And I visualized this taking place in my kitchen.... Anyway, you've got some punctuation problems:
" I flail kick thrash flounder struggle whirl."
should be; I flail, kick, thrash, flounder, struggle; whorl.
That would be better. Also, there are a few other lines like that. Gross poem, but very creative. I loved the vivid imagery from it, especially this line:

"Or the handle of the cupboard-door burns fat white welts onto my fingers"
Reminds me of when my wrist hit the inside of the hot oven..painful, but a great description.