No Where People

You may see them as a flit out the corner of your eye.

A inky deja-vu at midnight as you walk the dark street.

Always at the edge they lurk.

Waiting. To pull you in.

If you are  open to the blackness within their  world,

just climb through the mirror or fall into the

mists which lay low to the

ground just before the break of dawn.

They perpetually linger, so

never think you are alone as you

slip into bed.

See that shadow playing off in the corner?

Simple a curtain through which they

stare.

Do you dare to pull it aside?

By Philip Wardlow

My Dear Psycho,

Strip me bear and lead me to the bath tub

naked and lay me

within.

Slit my wrists, slit my throat and have

my deliciousness drain from me

and let it feed the sewers below.

Watch the light slowly leave my eyes,

as you hold me close in a lover’s

viscous bloody embrace.

Sing to me of your wanting,

Sing to me of your loss you hold

deep and dark as pitch that never

knew love.

My Dear Psycho,

Dip a finger or two into an open

wound that you so choose and

paint a caricature upon me of you.

Leave me smiling,

leave me bloody and blessed by your touch.

Leave me dead

In my own bathtub.

My dear Psycho.

By Philip Wardlow

Haunted Baby

While I slumber you climb  out  from your graveyard crib

and creep.

What foul revenge do you seek?

Baby Baby , Haunted Baby.

Stay Away!

But to my kitchen you do go,

to grab  the sharpest knife you see,

then toddle and teeter on unsure feet

with a sure grip on blade in hand,

you make your way to where I sleep.

Baby Baby, Haunted Baby

Stay Away!

I toss and turn,

for in the dim fog that is my brain,

I feel a nightmare approach

in a slow dead march

down my long dark hall.

Baby Baby, Haunted Baby

Stay Away!

With dead baby teeth you pull your way up

my crisp linen sheets like

an animal enraged.

The moon shining through my window

is the sole witness

to your evil

as you plunge

the blade deep.

It is only then a smile

replaces the snarl

on your lips

as you fade off to

sleep.

Baby, Baby.

By Philip Wardlow

Death Waits

Blackness stands vigilant

over a life you deemed

of no worth.

It sees your path laid out like a meandering stream,

soon to dry out in a dead valley gone from tall green

to wilted brown.

Patience is one of its skills for

the time it will take  you

to slowly unwind from your mortal coil.

But unwind you will.

With a keen blade

as sharp as the sickle moon which hangs the sky,

it shall cut you from the

thread of life

you never cared

to hold.

By Philip Wardlow