Rake spin

He came to me in my sleep.

I have experienced the greatest terror.

He came to me in my sleep.

When I close my eyes I see him.

He crouches at the foot of my bed.

His eyes, nothing but black pits

as they bore into me.

I huddled to the headboard,

trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

It didn’t make a difference.

Walking in a hunched form,

like a dog who had been hit by a car,

he slung himself over the bed rail.

He breathes ragged and heavy, chest heaving back and forth.

Lifting my face, I peered from my sheets;

what I saw created a fear that racked my body.

He sat there on his haunches, eyeing me.

He had no nose, and his eyes were open pools of space.

His mouth hung open, drooling,

jagged nubs protruded through his gums.

I couldn’t control the panic as I started to scream.

I didn’t know what else to do.

Just as I reached a loud enough pitch to be heard,

he lashed forward, covering my mouth

with his mangy, clawed hands.

I felt them pierce flesh as he dug me.

His face, inches from my own,

deviously he tilted his head to the side and let out

a wail that echoed against the halls.

Breathing down my neck, a low growl forming in his throat,

he started whispering words I couldn’t comprehend.

The things he spoke I could not understand;

it wasn’t a foreign language, in fact, it wasn’t a language at all.

Noticing my confusion, he leaned in closer, his skin

touching my cheek; he told me,

“I Am The Rake.”