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She wrote scary stories
that would devore the night
and take the light away
of even the brightess days, were smiles would dance, and the cries were set a blaze.
She wrote scary stories
that would make your bones crack and crumble
underneath your cold skin,
and would make the world rumble
with the words, that in her text she put in.
She wrote scary stories
that would create a spark in your eyes,
the only prize that she would get, that could possibly reflect
the heights of her misery.
She was the scary story
and would devore the night with her cries
leaving big black tears in her eyes;
and she would tear her own skin apart
to create her art,
because
She wrote scary stories,
she was them and they were her
making the last words on the page only a blur.
A.
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