As the midnight moon casts its shallow light,
and the wind whispers low in despair,
It will come.
Lurking in the shadows like some ghastly beast,
hidden, it will ready for attack.
But I will hear it.
Hear the soft chime of the metal circling its throat,
and I'll wait.
Wait for it to sink its claws into my flesh,
in the ritual that has plagued my nights.
And if I move, I'm sure to bleed.
It will move over me, its weight suffocating,
as it settles on my chest and I stare into its eyes.
Menacing in the faint light of the moon,
it will bare its fangs in a mighty yawn, start to purr
then settle into sleep. |