It
By Amberly A.M. Oosthuizen
The figure hides
In the alleyways of my dreams
A blurred face in the crowd
Costing me sleep.
The only things that are definite
Are his hands,
Twice the size of mine,
Dead skin peeling off of them,
Exposing bone
It's a pure blur,
But can shape-shift
Into my worst nightmare
It can make me love my enemies and hate my friends
But before I can stop it,
He changes the game.
Master of my nightmares
I fear to awaken and see
his long blur of a body standing over me.
His hands shining in the moonlight,
Weaving my dreams
Into his nightmare...
© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen
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