Whispers rattle through deadened doors, <br />feather-tipped tongues <br />that roll and spit <br />insects in amongst the bark. <br />The minute hand jars against my ear <br />like sandpaper, <br />the once damp linoleum cracking <br />as my clawed talons <br />snarl and tear. <br />Rising to meet reflected cavernous eyes <br />bloodied lips, <br />I can do nothing other than stare as <br />the mirror stains with blocks of black, <br />devouring my reflection <br />until I contort, disappear. <br />Ceasing to be before my eyes.<br /><br />Danielle Gerrish<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-terrors-7/
