How ironic it is
That I used to laugh
At scary movies
And at the people who screamed.
I used to claim that no matter how
Grotesque
A man was, or how
Disfigured
A creature was,
I would never fear it.
That, too, is ironic.
Because the man that haunts my dreams
Is neither grotesque nor disfigured.
The man is a tall,
Really tall
Humanoid with elongated limbs.
He is always sharply dressed in a suit,
His extra tentacle-like limbs ripping through the back.
But his face,
Which is neither grotesque nor disfigured,
Is what scares me most.
That face
That bears no features.
That face
That follows me in my dreams.
That face
That hides behind the trees.
That face,
Though it has no eyes,
Is always watching.