The Bad Things
The Bad Things come at night,
to haunt me,
to built a
d e s o l a t e
bridge that connects
my hard day’s angst and
impending nightmares.
The Bad Things drove me
out of the covers,
along with my pregnant bladder,
to the hallway; sour and unwelcoming.
Night’s Breath
The Bad Things crept along
in the shadows.
They were the monsters,
Scream masks,
Michael Myers,
Freddys,
the Demons (my demons)
that lurked deep in my subconscious,
where the Bad Things took shelter
while the sun still held the world’s hand.
The Bad Things were
that interloper with a gun;
my family drifting slowly away on
The River Styx.
They brought along my death,
bloody and shrieking.
Yesterday’s faces came in toe,
glazed and burning and
Forgotten.
The Bad Things were
my shallow gasps,
and my pounding heart
that begged to be released
from my chest.
They were that sudden
cold pocket,
the goose bumps,
secrets that took shelter
in the corner of the eye.
The Bad Things were regrets.
My crushed dreams,
stomped into the ground by a
Giant’s boot.
The Bad Things were my nightmares,
visiting me early,
as soon as my head hit
the chilled pillow.
