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The Black Holly

de Argyle Goolsby

Wrong turn, I learn late in the game.
Ask myself why it is that I even came.
Call upon my will, skill. Feel. Break free.
Or a black sack trash bag's my destiny...
In the last house on the left.
Pounding on the beams. Screams no one can hear.
Every breath is pain, but equally dear.
Running for my life. Knife stalking my pulse.
Heart beating. Bleeding. Leaving trails on the floor...
In the last house on the left.
Screaming deep inside this gutted room.
A reeking reminder of a molded past.
The killer's shadow waits and fills
The cracks beneath the door.
And pulls on the rusted latch.
Lips numb. Dumb. Brain locates the pain.
Broke leg. Run. Stunned. Shock of the sprain.
Senses slowly fading. Wading. Waist high in webs.
The smell of blood and brass. Crass smell on my hands...
In the last house on the left.
Last house! Last house on the left.

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