The Bogeyman

From a corner of my eye,
it lies.
Slithering from the depths of my dreams
Into a muddy consciousness

I walk alongside the pavement, a heavyweight on my back
Its voice whispering sweet nothings from long ago
A gentle hand
Translucent, slimy, wet with passion
Runs through my hair
Dry with the Sun

And dusk falls
I start running
for with nightfall comes the beautiful nightmare
Hands outreached, it grabs my limbs
Was it my hand, or my leg?
Or did it take?

Stones count its years
And stones replaces heavy hearts
When we stop looking
The Bogeyman smiles, and then it collects its dues

But I can't resist
and I take its hand
Or a gentle kiss on the cheek
So much more we yearn,
but with memories
All comes broken
All comes like a sick breeze from the canal below
Beckoning you in a stomach churning realization

That good things aren't meant to last
From long ago