Just a quick poem I wrote in fith grade
And then, said the man in the middle of the room, his eyes shining bright like a flame,
"We shall all parish and parish we must, for there is no hope for mankind."
And far in the distance a scream can be heard, no doubt the work of what lurks in the night
And I knew what he feared right then in that room as he held the knife to my throat
Not of the demons or darkness, and not of the dying or death
No, what he feared was the thing that was real:
The fear of fear itself