Pop crackle snap
Goes the stovetop, cooking up some beans
Hiss shuffle nag
Goes the lady, as the pot begins to steam
Moan mutter creak
Goes the old man, going to “their” room
As the nights begin to shorten and the snow begins to bloom.
Pop crackle snap
Goes the T.V., blackening the screen
Hiss shuffle nag
Goes the lady, and then she starts to scream.
Moan mutter creak
Goes the cold man, stumbling to “their” phone
As the nights get colder still and the wind begins to moan.
Pop crackle snap
Goes the rocker, creaking as she sings
Hiss shuffle nag
Goes the lady, crawling through his dreams
Moan mutter creak
Goes the old man, glaring at “their” rings
As it goes from cold to sweltering, and the birds begin to sing.
Pop crackle snap
Go her leg bones, tearing through her jeans
Pop crackle snap
Go her arm bones, brittle as can be
Hic, giggle, sob
Goes the madman, bursting at the seams
And far off in the distance, lights begin to gleam.
Hiss crackle bleep
Go their walkies, and the cops, they see his sin
Gasp mutter moan
At the carnage found within.
Pop crackle snap
As its head begins to spin
And when they turn about to see, it turns his head and grins.
An old poem I wrote some time ago. Thought I'd post it here, since it's so short, and since it's so rare I write poetry anymore.
If this made a delicious chill run down your spine, check out my serial novel I'm writing about a boy trapped in the far-reaching clutches of a sinister German candyman:
The image source is my own hand, which drew this in Mr. Doob Harmony, a procedural drawing tool, using my Chromebook's trackpad.