Horror and 3 A.M. Regrets

What is this sick fascination inside of me?

I cringe with horror, but I cannot look away.

I am both repelled and inexplicably drawn in.

Horror sucks me in like an ominous black hole.


I want to stop, look away, but I can't...


I cannot avert my eyes.

No. I draw closer.

I revel in the horror, the gore, 

 

and details that make me sick. 

They make me shutter.

My stomach lurches.


I eat up every gruesome detail, ever hungry for more.

On screen fear, horror, and other's pain makes me plot and theorize.

I am gleeful with every new twist and turn.

When the plot thickens with the loss of an appendage,

or a foreboding letter I am wrapt. 


But, when fiction and reality blur -

when suddenly Saw is manifested in a real life killer -

reality becomes even more real - darker. 

When the sun goes down and the clock strikes three,

it all comes back to haunt me. 

I see it in the shadows,

on the undersides of my eye lids when I go to sleep.

It whispers and plays on repeat in the darkness. 


But, despite, the fear, the adrenaline and my own curiosity,

I cannot escape the single question that haunts me when the sun comes up and the shadows retreat to their distant corners.  

If I can take pleasure in other's pain,

in the gore of chainsaws and scalpels,

than what really separates me from the real monsters

who do not hide in the shadows?

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741