There is nothing more frightening,
than coming face to face with utter Horror.
When you encounter something,
Wholly other than what you are.
The indifferent monstrous creature,
Incapable of considering anything but primal instinct.
It's shadow emanates from the black of night.
I am writing this down,
because in time I know
if I don't, I won't believe this tale myself...
As I lay snug on the 1st day of the week,
In my bed so secure,
nothing could drive a wedge between
the pages of my world and contented bliss;
But It Did -
I thought nothing of it at first,
All kinds of atrocities live and draw their being;
out of the corner of my peripheral vision.
But nothing ever actually takes shape -
They are blurs, streaking formless voids passing by
Infiltrations of Illusion reflections only,
But not this time...
Suddenly without warning,
A huge insectiod leg hooks over my bed covers!
Pressing down upon my own legs,
Spiny spikes piercing through my comforter,
into my flesh; the sensation of puss oozing under my skin.
My black pupils began to bulge
as my gold leaf copy of "The Passion"
slid onto the floor.
I felt the dread of this first day of the week-
turn into my last.
This thing that should not be,
From the edge of Reality
And Imagination,
took the shape of a huge hairy Spider
As now not one leg but -
Eight crusty legs staked my frail body,
plunging me into my comfort Zone.
