The Stalker
A deserted an desolate darkened grove,
Lurks a shadow, relentless in fury.
Not his choice this life he betroth.
But familiar to all of deaths glory.
Some people say, he was a feral child,
Fictitious the rumours are most.
Some think he died while living in the wild,
And came back as a mutated ghost.
All is somber but 1 house only,
Some drink, some dance, some fly.
But if you end up wondering outside lonely,
There’s a very good chance they may die!
He bides his time, watching through day,
By night he can pounce with ease.
He plays an toys and stalks his prey.
He likes when you run, its a tease.
He’l tare you to pieces limb from limb,
But keeps you alive no doubt.
Enjoying your pain from deep within,
So scared you can’t even scream out.
The fear it is said to enter your head,
Comparable only to war.
He ate his dads arm, someone once said,
Then smiled an went back for more.
So next time you stumble out the front door,
Drunk an confused in the dark.
Be aware that u could spend forevermore,
In pieces across the West Heath park.
Mwhaha
(2010)
