Fear

A broken stream of lamp light shines short upon the gray man

Pinpricks of yellow pierce his skin and travel straight through,

fog waves by him as he whispers sweet melodies off key.

“The final end, dry empty stream, wish only once, for another dream.”

Mumble melody dances like children, only the children wear masks of thorns.

They prick and poke you as you realize the door opens but a single way.

Even once the door is opened, it is darker inside than one might ever imagine.

Six, slow steps bring you against stiff, archaic bars.

Bars keep not the animals out, but rather you inside.

Bars.

Bars created from skulls of sewer rats and thrown together with the pain of the sick.

To keep you eternally enclosed, to freeze ambition.

To reduce you to a shaking so intense the voice within your own mind begins to stammer.

You remain in darkness, unless you open your eyes.

You open your eyes and look upon him, the gray man.

Your eyes are drawn to his empty, black eyes, which swallow you whole.

His melody lulls you into a broken sleep and you dream of ephemeral scars cast upon you by the sharp tongue of fire.

Your dreams filled with him.

Eyes the color of loneliness, skin the color of ash.

A voice, quiet, the color of blood.

Your dreams filled with crushing episodes of depression and him.

The gray man, the ashen man named fear.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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