The faceless man with crystal hands crept into my head last night. While shuffling his feet, so incomplete, he gave himself quite a fright. Rock stars fell, never doing so well into the savage garden below, And within my hands lies the face of a man I do not wish to know. He spings from within with a sinister grin and pounds at the door of my soul. I can feel his touch, burning too much as forces struggle for control. He doesn't speak, his eyes aren't weak and he points to me like fear. But his crooked hand (with soft demand) draws all thats lost so near.
Reason for writing:
Comments welcome.
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Buddha22 (pisces).