Storyteller

Your stories haunt my daydreams to this very day.

They dance on my walls like a shadow play.

I close the black curtains and sit alone in the dark.

I dream of a land that is, oh, so far.

But your stories puncture my ears like a drill,

And all I can really do is let them kill.

They flash before my eyes in violent crashes.

Your stories never appealed to the masses.

So, they haunt my days and torture my nights,

Strap me of sanity and deplete me of life.

I close me eyes, hoping you will not get in,

But I am yet to see an ending in which I win.

-Jackie