For the rare times when I write. |
Locked in a room too quiet to be true, He felt his senses going numb. It smelled like nothing, the tastelessness grew, But he recognized the hand holding up a two. There was no sound at all but that of his heart, 'Does it always beat so fast?' As he thought, the hand lost another finger He could now only see a very blurry one. His only sense that could really sense Began to tingle little by little. And slowly, even the last finger fell, And there was nothing left but a stump. A stump of a hand with no fingers left A stump of a man with no limbs left The only sense that remained steady Was that of his touch and his feel. But he soon realized that he'd rather lose it too, The room where one can merely feel was up to no good. Suddenly a piercing cold encapsulated his form And the feeling grew colder and sharper and colder and sharper and colder and sharper and sharper and... ...until there was nothing left but insanity. Notes: line count: 22 Written for the taboo words contest, October 2020 Theme: A ghost story taboo words: ghosts spectres creepy haunting fear or any derivatives of these words |