Saturday, September 28, 2013

What Am I? (PG for gore)

Dark shadow rising.
Frothy foam splits and reveals...The Mouth.
Rows upon rows of teeth.
He looks at me with his large dead eyes, mouth gaping before he brings down a crushing, shattering, ripping, shredding blow across my arm. Crimson blooms, bursts, bubbles, and feeds the frenzy. I'm sinking, flailing and twisting.
A watery scream from a watery grave as the crimson drives him insane with ecstasy.

2 comments:

  1. Oo, I get it. ;-) (I'll PM the answer!) Nice, though disturbing, poem, Beth!

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