ghostly

nobody knows if you're real. they won't dare speak to you. free to be and not exist. a classic. a dialectic. wander the streets fueled by peanut butter cups. watch them all path back to home. doors close out the cold night. nobody calls for you. grotesque carved faces flicker and laugh. nowhere to go. nobody cares. you lick your fingers to rub off the paint but it won't go away! the ghostly palor is yours. now wander the streets for eternity.

skeleton

just some old bones strung together defyin gravity ona harvest moon. put a scare in the livin when the light was cast through to the wall. skeletons. good for a laugh and no trouble at all...until you discover who they once were.

damn it feels good to be a monster

The monster was no longer under the bed. Or in the closet. The kid had invited it out to play, one day, and the monster cautiously approached, a bashful look on its face. They played cards and the monster excelled at Old Maid. The monster remembered its home in hell, where its parents used to play rummy and bridge at a small card table nestled in an eddy beside the Great River of Blood. The monster missed all the other monsters. He came from a large monster family. 

The kid looked straight at him and was not scared. He asked him all sorts of questions a kid might ask a monster, if he could stop screaming. A really nice kid for a human. Exceptional. Rare. The kid felt the same about the monster. The monster did not even have to change into a human or something less monstrous. He could show his true feelings and remain a monster. They could suck on bomb pops and jump off the garage into giant piles of leaves. He would teach the boy Scaring 101. Damn it felt good to be a monster.

the spider

I had the bolt

 locked

I thought

I was sure

'Neon Orange Spider on Gate' by Katya

The spider
he came
The venom
So pure