Email Poem

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Personal Note:
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Poem
WARNING Don't Read


Before we get down to your last sites,
I think I should, really, try to relate.
That theyre, now,
only one, very hateful look,
away from you-and I must say!
That it appears,
they're real sick of your face to, too!

You should have never thought-
so hard about the darkness.
Your probing contemplation,
like a spell within a sin, to them.
To them,
it was like an open door, RSVP upon-
an open house invitation.

And, If you're leary of puppets,
well, then I think you ought to know.
They'll be there in your room,
to poke a little fun at you.
Just until they decide, to bring you
to ....
Those little jokers, do like to play for keeps.
While you're there trying to sleep, counting creeps.
Well the hand from beneath your bed,
is a fine, howdy, adieu. 
Rising up to play a little grab ass,
as you keep your limbs locked close to you. 
Your fear is a magnet with blanket over your eyes in entrapment.
You can see that plushies, think,
magic is fun, endearing enchantment-
for the dead that is.
Thats exactly, what they want to prove.
As soon as they're done playing,
"scare the life from you."
They'll tug at your mattress.
They're just playful entities
of the by and the by, true.
Frollicking across the floor, looking at you.
Making intrepid tracks, 
in a hurry,
black for more,
in the back of your mind's- black eye.
While the others are scattering for weapons to give a try.

My friend, you should have never played with ouija.
Never thought, those nasty things about dolls.
Should have never, thought of the skeletons,
the ones in your dummy closet,
just waiting for nightfall.

I think they originally wanted to get you,
defenseless, in your sleep,
but decided, that wasn't enough.
You caught on to them,
and you pissed them right off.
Now im afraid,
you should be very afraid,
things are gonna get rough.

As Fear starts to lock you-within your own doors.
You try to let out-some sort of a scream,
but the sound is strangled by fear, and whats more?.
You know the second that you sound the alarm, death will get there, sooner still, with bells on, its feet.

The chill up and down your spine,
must be making it impossible to move.
Freezing your nerves into spasmodic frenzy,
feeling like an invisible shackle and noose.
Even if you got on the move,
they'll be right behind,
in the hunt, at your back.
If they can't make you trip and fall,
they'll get you, still, in the hallway,
the main place they attack.
PRAY
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