The Child

Twisted deformed child,
Motionless in the dark,
my body feels drawn,
Cold black room
Drowns me in darkness,
Terror and sorrow,
My only option
To watch the child.

The silence was broken,
Chilling whine of the dead,
distorted time and space,
the ever changing
twisting . . .
disfigured . . .
Face.

The torture of his whine,
I cried out for help!
The head is spinning
The noise. . .
Oh the haunting noise . . .
It’s face so young,
The child I once was,
The twitching,
morbid movements,
in it’s face. . .
aching feeling inside,
the horrible ringing
The child’s head shatters!

Into pieces of black and grey ash
that fall over my ever-changing body,
As I breathe in the new day . . .