Panic
The monster started restlessly to rumble,
He had awaken, he new he was in trouble.
Trying to lift himself, he fell from the bed,
Hit himself, blood was gushing from his head.
Would this be the end? He isn’t lucky enough,
He didn’t die, he couldn’t cry, he’d just cough.
But who would hear the cough of the mute?
It was like a dead man would blow into a flute.
Fallen and left for dead he wanted to scream,
But he couldn’t so the monster started to dream.
At least in his dreams he would be liberated
From all the pain in the real world he had faced.
These were his last thoughts beside the bed,
For the monster knew, in seven days he’ll be dead
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