creative writing

Vic’s Haunt

Before I read the grave’s etching,
The whispering winds blow colder.
My arms are heavy with tension,
Your hand of lead pressed on my shoulder.

I said my final good riddance,
Thinking you were gone.
Why won’t you tire of haunting me?
Vic, I plead with you, move on.

Your enflamed, bloodshot eyes
Effortlessly graze my soul.
Even from beyond the grave,
You still demand control.

Your body may pass through me,
But you still take a violent swing.
The illusion still has impact;
No trace of hope for the living.

In response to dVerse’s resurrection challenge found here

26 thoughts on “Vic’s Haunt

  1. Damn that Vic. Call a priest, and exorcise his evil butt; nothing worse than an asshat who hangs around after death.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Such a chilling thought, abuse from beyond the grave! There is so much threat in ‘Your hand of lead pressed on my shoulder’, the violent swing, and the ‘enflamed, bloodshot eyes’ that effortlessly graze her soul.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s