Visiting

In the dark the walls move inward
until they crush my sanity,
I could scream,
but my neighbors are all psychotics
they would just stand and cheer
with knives in their hands
waiting till I died
so they could feast on my corpse.

Perhaps this night
won’t end with my swimming in acid,
might even survive without needing
a hellish yell of terror,
if the moans cease and the blurs vanish.

It’s all the molasses of melancholy
slowly poured over my brain
so it losing any sanity
before I hear ‘them’ again.

Those are the invisible creature
nobody can identify,
yet they creep up the spine
whenever they are present.

Just try to hold onto a thread of light
where darkness has a lasso,
only the more I try to hold on,
the more I feeling strangled
by those forces I can't see.

Doesn’t do any good to tell others,
since they seem to disappear
once they know,
left only wondering
how long before I am just a statistic too?

Time spent getting ready for those visiting moments
that will eventually drag me into a vile hole
where I’ll tread vomit to survive
while the beings who captured me
howl over their success.

Someday perhaps I accept that reality
as it awaits for the perfect time,
what a reunion I’ll have with all those faces
who faded out of my life.

Perhaps it is fantasy,
just won’t keep me from the dread
since each midnight those scratches
on the closet door
tell me the tortured are real.

Tomorrow you may read this
or you might find it as a copy
nailed the wall of that pit
you’ve been left,
will be too late to help,
at least you’ll no longer
call me a lunatic.