I Am Jack’s Fear

Dimly, the room is lit, fading white square of light, afloat in 

little motes of dust, dancing high,

High up near the ceiling, like clouds of flies in a black swirl over dead flesh 

melting off sooty bones,

Almost invisible on the grimy stones 

of the floor slippery with body fluids;

(The stench, I assure you, will turn your stomach!)

Looking down at the blood-filled sockets of Jack's eyes,

I am Jack's fear:

a slimy lizard, head, and legs wriggling, slithering off into

Tunnels of Jack's brain, into the pitch dark.

You could (or not?) hear the tip of my tail vanish, swift, silent into

The soft corridors of cortical matter; 

See the thoughts crawling around, like tiny maggots, each trying to decide:

"Flight or fight? Fight or flight?"

As if it matters! Or ever did!

But, did you get a peek of my head and beady eyes,

Pop-out of his bloated purple lips cracked, (mildewed skin peeling off in

Ragged grey-green stripes),

And pop back in, in a trice?

In this deep Red Room that Life is

There are chances, you may hear,

As Death prances in the rear,

The munching, the scrunching, 

Of skulls being crushed in

by bare hands. Atrocious sights like

Fingertips squishing into eyeballs, scooping them out as if with melon ballers;

Hearts breaking like collar bones cracking; 

Arms and legs twisted in knots, 

Bones sticking out through flesh; you will see them shine

In the dark. But the loudest whisper 

in your ear will be mine. 

For I am Jack's fear.