I like this poem a great deal. Your other stuff is more universal, but, I can somehow relate more to this poem than anything else you've posted so far, even though I can't say for sure that I've ever experienced the exact thing you are describing, (and describing quite well, I may add.)

I'm digging the creepier stuff... Here's something fairly new. I'm not even gonna try to deny it... I was inspired by Beetlejuice on this one, and briefly by John Wayne Gacy.



For the warmth that I strive to contain in you;

For the mortar I lay in your cracks;

You give me the gift of a skeleton key,

That's been lathered with smudged fingerprints

You say it's authentic

I wouldn't be sure


It opens all things, save for one stubborn door...


The attic

Refuses to budge;

Hulking portal,

In heavy lit frame

A towering, nightly, archway of defeat

I keep circling through over again

Like a bird fastened tight to the rails

Skating round all the cogs and the wheels

In the tattooing heart of your careful invention

That screeches and stops in another dimension


I swear there's a wild thing, nightly, you welt

It's wasting and writhing, there; pinned to a belt,

Or tucked in the floorboards, like some twisted fag

Of old letters - all dried out and drained of their sap

So dry, now, infact,

That I'm sure they'd combust

If I mentioned I'd stumbled across them, in passing

Rummaging, desperate, like I was just guessing;


Looking to silence the scratch in the walls


I think the influence of TW is alienating me from general society. - to_dizzy