They say the fabric stretches thin one night a year and think it’s those in graves that rise to haunt with curious rage. But I wait here, imagined fear on brightly painted page. I look in your eyes. Don’t close the book.
Time passes. Ticking clock. D’you hear? Just wait. Don’t close the book. The last bell tolls.
That’s when I rise from paper, freed by fabric stretched too thin. That’s when I draw you in and sketch your face to take my place. That’s when I’m free.
Next Halloween midnight I’ll hold the book tight-closed. Just wait and see.


Comments: 10
and the heavy cloaking of macabre..
it reminds one of Poe..but then once I did say that of you ...right?
;)
i'm swearing off reading books today..just magazines and newspapers
(I better not read anything illustrated tonight, lol!)
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting