The man in the door

A man was standing at the door

He stood and stared with empty eyes

Darkness washed over his gaze

The swollen clouds blackened the sky

Rain seeped like blood from under the floors

                    I held the keys to lock the door

                    But time he twisted, to his will it bent

                    His face weathered from the cold-blooded days

                    That he seemed not loath to end

                    His aura exuded a lust for carnage and gore

                              Try as I might to fight this horror

                              His hands lent themselves to hellish fire

                              The abandoned room filled with a bloody haze

                              Just then I knew this was to be my death, my date to expire

                              Climbing, crying, and clawing my way towards the door.

                                                          He rushed at me; his face held flesh no more

                                                          His skeletal figure leaning towards me, bent

                                                          As if he meant to pounce. He lunged, eyes ablaze

                                                          Was sealed; a single despairing plea for help never sent;

                                                          Never escaped through the nearly demolished door.

Floating in and out of awareness. Stuck to walls and floor

I saw my organs. I could feel myself slowly die

Lying in a lake of blood, frozen; lethally dazed.

He drug my broken bloody body

Through the wreckage that was the door.