Short Poem: 150 words
Category: Dark Poetry (Page 1 of 2)
The worst day of my life was not when I was quartered and pulled apart. Not when the dogs had torn my head away and ripped off my arms and legs.
That was a bad day…but not the worst day.
When people think of homes on the beach, they think of paradise; panoramic views with pristine white sands leading into hues of blue. They think of plate glass and every room is a room with a view. Homes surrounded by ocean, of private beaches beyond. All of these vistas set to the sloshing sound of the tides as they rise in and out like the beat of breaths.
My mother told me she was from the past. She was schizophrenic. It’s a brain disorder. Makes you see, and hear things that aren’t really there. Most people have heard about it.
At night I sleep darkly and as I drift away the wisps of his boney dreamfingers reach out. Poke their ways inside to the back of my eyes.
That’s where the man is. The Nightmare Man. His name is Spindly Ticks.
I enjoy watching the neighbors.
I watch them outside, through the window.
I think the slimmer is very attractive. They have lived here for a year and I’ve watched them both in that time. The slimmer one has red hair and a strong jawline. Sometimes his hair is more red than now—sometimes it has lighter hues of blonde. Sometimes he keeps it short. Sometimes he keeps it long.