My hands felt through the thick darkness like the tentacles of a distressed octopus, the cold midnight air brushed the tips of my fingers and traveled through my bones to my spine making me jitter with fear. My frightened digits met the hard bark of a tree, I slumped up against it tenderly, allowing the warmth of the presence of another living organism to course through my veins. As I stroked the dry bark of the towering plant, a tone stretched through the vast woods, a sort of high pitched resonance that rattled my Skelton and made my skin crawl. Such a sinister sound could not be caused by that of any living creature known to this earth.

Just as I had shoved the thought to the back of my mind, a sensation similar to that of a long finger, running its tip over my cheek reared itself from the horror pit of this Forrest. It startled me, I helped my self up from the thick trunk and began through the thick grass, one leg after the other, stretching as far as I could with each stride and launching my self the furthest distance that I could muster. As the chaos came to a halt, my pulse slowed, my mind gradually came to ease and I almost forgot about the frightening events that had just take place.

I continued to trample the soggy grass under my thick boots, trying to make as little sound and impact as I could with each step. Soon, i came across a figure, it almost blended in with the blackness of the wood. As my eyes met it, I stopped in my tracks. Adrenaline began pouring back into my blood stream and I could feel my pulse increasing. I could feel every heart beat and the blood pushing it’s way through the thin tunnels of my arteries beneath my skin. Beads of sweat began one by one dancing down my face and back, and at the height of my panic, the figure lurched forward and revealed its face.

I will never forget the look of this demonic blood fiend as it’s retched face uncloaked itself from the mist of the dark forest. A pale face, white almost with an alarming lack of eyes. It’s mouth took up at least 40% of its face as it breached its lips and stretched open its jaws, showcasing an array of shattered yellow teeth, each one dripping furiously with the blood of the innocent.

I don’t remember much after that, but know this, not a day goes by where I do not see that morbid creature in the blacks of my eyes when I close them for merely a second. He visits at night, in my dreams. But when I wake up, I can almost swear, every night... He is just to slow disappearing from the foot of my bed.

Wordsmiths Cover to cover pulsating with intelligence It is at your finger tips What was once a relic, now sits in pixels under glass screens Imagination, street smarts and dreams

A paper jungle With leather doors The absence of materialism, a sweet solitude in the tainted march of society, a manhole for the passion of gods

Deep cut ink in veins of poets Masterminds from the deepest regions of time A small dosage of what it’s like to think and breathe

As a writer tips their head onto paper A gush of liquid rich with the power of knowing a colourful juice with the most potent taste Can be so easily dried by the wittering of morbid censorship

All of a mans life can be wrapped up in page after page Diaries of business men, country folk and the less fortunate Letter after letter, page after page Eyes dart between dark idols, misshapen by the beating drum of time

The rich the poor, the mentally ill and the fathers of fascists All beings have a song A song that can prosper and dance in the woven grain of paper Solitude, in a little outlet us people like to call

Books.