The Second Hand Smoke

Creeping through the darkness
On the balls of my feet

I heard the rocking chair squeaking
Yet there is no one in the seat.

A cold chill travels
Up the base of my spine

A voice in the dark whispers
“Your soul shall be mine.”

I stopped in my tracks
Only my heart I heard beat

The chill went right through me
And was replaced by fierce heat

From my throat came a scream
But not a sound would emit

My mouth is bone dry
I can’t even spit.

The voice that spoke
Materialized in the chair

He said, “You may scream,
I am going no where.”

He had horns and a tail
And a fancy red suit

A cigar between his teeth
As big as a flute

A plume of smoke he blew out
From below his snout

Smoke rings were not made
Strange shapes danced about

The looked like people
In agony and pain

They couldn’t escape
Trapped and insane

He got up from the chair
And reached through the smoke

I stumbled back and fell over
To avoid his choke

My head hit the nightstand
As I tumbled from bed

I awoke on the floor
Blood dripping from my head

A nightmare was had
But from it, I awoke

That doesn’t explain
The faint smell of cigar smoke.



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