The Marks


June 13th, 2009

The man woke up, in a steady daze
As his eyes adjusted, he didn’t know the place
A small black room, rotten yet clean
And as he stood to his feet, a figure he gleamed

Before he could say a word, the figure stared at him
He realized, with horror, what was hidden and dimmed
The figure has no eyes, empty with nothing,
The figure, it inched, slowly, to man who thinks hes dreaming

Before the man could react, the figure rose his hand,
And in it, it held, a knife which promised the end
The man, terrified, became paralyzed too,
And as the knife bored into his arms, he realized the blood, was not red, but dark blue

One, two, three… the man counted seven,
Stabs in his arms, so funny, they werent hurting
And as he woke up, screaming, realizing it was only a dream, he looked at his arms,
And almost fainted dead, when he saw the marks

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