Creepy Crawley (3)

Posted on January 22, 2010 by houstinhobby

My eyes open wide
twisting, turning, itching, burning, cluthcing, clawing, screaming, falling,
the ground comes up to meet me.
Cold, clawing, clutching, ice drifts down my face.
tiny, shiny, spiney shivers shake me.

This entry was posted in Uncle Pat Stanzas and tagged Creepy Crawley, poetry, stanza. Bookmark the permalink.