It Comes

A dark acrostic poem

Fiddling with the receiver, but only static is buzzing on the screen. 
Endlessly gasping for air — I hear footsteps suddenly behind me. 
Absolutely, this is my life — Sudden death by a TV remote gone bad.
Rabid dogs invisible to my eye, hellhounds, ready to consume me.

Friday night horror films are on repeat, but it’s real life. 
Erasing the positivity from the day and sinking into a pit of darkness. 
Abscesses oozing and draining their infection onto my soul. 
Revolting scents fill my nostrils as the decomposition begins.

Fires blazing in the attic. — I am too slow to put out the flames. 
Everything I can imagine inside my mind is happening right now. 
An array of pain, misery, and torture awaits me. — I am petrified. 
Rearranging the furniture to block the doors. — Bells to signal movement.

Freaking out on the inside because the static won’t stop. 
Even if I try to unplug the square box — it won’t stop. 
Already the killer stalks me like a shadow wherever I go.
Ready to pounce on me — rip my flesh from my bones.

Feeding my bones to the demons in hell that await me.
Everlasting destruction with pitchforks and jagged teeth.
Altering my reality and morphing it into this beast. 
Rendering me speechless, static, unmoving from this existence.

Free me.
Evict me.
Answer me!
Rapture me!

Forget it. 
Eradicate it.
Annihilate it!
Ravage it!

F. E. A. R.

It’s coming.