Salt Rounds

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Frolic in your conscience state before the pain begins

While doctors operate to the undertow of your still body

Compressing oxygen inflates the lungs

Try to assimilate several voices in the sterile white room

Remaining in a state of conscienceness, but cannot speak or move

Feel them drive the cold steel deep to open an access in your skin

Pain so surreal

What is it like when you Yell! & no doctor can hear?

When they bring out the bonesaw

Pain so surreal

Scream in agony!

Rubber fingers pull out shattered bone

Frolic in your conscience state has ended way back

Can you feel your bones producing purple blood

It will never be enough

Red line from the monitor straightens out

Slip further into conscienceness

Past the pain now

Only you know what happens when your gone for that duration of time

O look, the shadow of your killer walks into the room

Like tossing red paint on the walls

They all drop dead

Takes one last look

Pulls life support from you

Silent alarm goes off

Killer’s shadow leaves

They can’t make any sense of this mess

Months later you wake up

Swear to find the thing that caused you to end up here

Trace your way back to the accident scene of photographs taken that day

Still blows your mind on how you even survived

Gone to the car yard

It takes time to find her

Pry the trunk to find a pack of bar matches with the room number 106 written inside

Standing in a elevater headed to the top

Doors open to your floor

Room 106 lays just ahead

Letting yourself in

Drapes blow freely in & out of the window from across the room

Shadow from behind rises up the wall slamming the door shut

Fast to act

Pulling out a sawed off shotgun, loaded with salt rounds

Firing rounds at the very thing that brought you close to death

Scattered salt from each shell that ignites

Covers the shadow

Slowly exposing its true self

Trap him in place with a ring of salt that you poured out around his feet

I have the power to send you to heaven or hell

A ray of beaming light burns a hole in the ceiling

Shadow man’s flesh burns to his ascent up

All that is left on the wooden floor is a burnt ring

Now, I am relieved

By:ObligatoryInsightPoet
7/09/13

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