Whispers rattle through deadened doors,
feather-tipped tongues
that roll and spit
insects in amongst the bark.
The minute hand jars against my ear
like sandpaper,
the once damp linoleum cracking
as my clawed talons
snarl and tear.
Rising to meet reflected cavernous eyes
bloodied lips,
I can do nothing other than stare as
the mirror stains with blocks of black,
devouring my reflection
until I contort, disappear.
Ceasing to be before my eyes.
Danielle Gerrish
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-terrors-7/
