Horror
Dark thoughts take a hold of him this day
And although he doesn’t wants to surrender, he’s forced to
Hear voices again, whispering:
“Just do it! No one will miss you!”
He’s caught up in a web,
And as much he tries to struggle,
He gets stuck even more.
He can’t move, something is holding his leg
And he’s forced to see the horror of being a puppet
In a world where nothing has its sense;
There’s an oppressive atmosphere,
A suffocating pressure in the air;
He can see the grey sky, the lake of blood,
Where dead bodies are asking for a second chance;
And he’s ripped in pieces
By the pain of witnessing the corrosion
By the anger of being helpless
By the fear of becoming a phantom;
And he’s forced to see the horror of being a puppet
In a world where nothing has its sense;
There’s no light, still shadows appear…
It’s the funeral of the desperate souls…
They have no expectations, no confidence
In nothing and no one anymore
And he’s still there, with tears in his eyes
Ashamed, feeling guilty, blaming himself, you and me…
He is the prisoner of his own conscience
And he loses his mind and now he’s among the others.
And he’s forced to see the horror of being a puppet
In this world where nothing has its sense.
©Timea K. Szűcs
A. N: Yes, too many horror 
movies have this effect on some, to determine 
one to write a horror poem. I'm the living proof... But I guess a bit of creepiness doesn't hurt now and then:-)