for the irksome night that
breathes the frigid air that
keeps my sinful soul
for the baying beasts whose
sorrowful music tickles
my ears and aids my
for the agony that
creeps like ivy upon my heart
quickening the beats
with savage pain.
for my blood-soaked bed where
despair and wicked words have led
my head to rest upon this pillow
in this coffin
Crickets. Music of a Northern
summer night engulfed me.
Girlish giggles, in the background,
Beneath starry night, silver—maybe--
gold nugget moon.
And whispering behind those rattles
the water. Tiny splashes. Trickles,
beckoning me to glory.
Goosebumps tickle the soft bare flesh
of my long legs as they
jut out from flowered panties.
Like me, they shiver with the excitement
carried in the chilly night breeze.
Like me, their bruises breathe
a sigh of relief.
I can hear the water speak to me.
Tell me to let go
of the year I suffered, a broken doll
fractured and glued,
then broken again.
Trickles and drops echo words that I
longed to hear, but never came.
I can hear the water.
“Be whole again”.
I did not go with grace or with
a dainty toe dipped, but plunged
with the fury of
all the hounds of Hell
nipping at my heels for long, long years.
The water sang my
And I was baptized in the town reservoir.
All the dirty parts washed away
purified by the water, the machinery, the chemicals.
And I will always be famous,
because that night
the whole town showered in me, drank me,
brushed their teeth with me.
Those eyes, bright and reflective
yellow and green,
like mossy Southern swamps,
peering, peering through the darkness.
Hypnotic eyes that charm me
to answer your decree, against my
What are you? Lurking in the
darkness, in the quiet corners of my
halls, my bedroom, my mind.
Are you liberator or barbarian?
Are you friend or foe?
Are you simply a piece of me that
has escaped, taking on a life
of its own?
Suckling on my soul.
Nursing on fractions of my nightmares,
my hopes, my dreams; until we
become one in two separate forms.
Half of me stalking the other
until the day
it is too weak to play
the watchman of half-life.
And I gape soundlessly into those
sapphire, neon eyes. Reading your
as you read mine.
Sleep Mother Soul, I am the
guardian of the watchtower, the
thing that goes bump in the night.
Ink & Needles is available on paperback at Amazon.com or by clicking the link on my works published page.
#HumpdayHorror Copyright 2018 Kira McKinney
Welcome to my blog. Sit back and enjoy a short story, a poem, or some flash fiction--whatever I have recently cooked up. I will post a new piece as often as possible. Check back once a week to see what's new.