Poetry from a Naive Quill

Co-Writing with Boogeyman!

Another crumbled paper I throw

missing the mess in my room I grow

the blank paper staring at me in anticipation

my quill dries waiting for a new creation

Behind the eyes curtains have fallen down

No new wonders I can crown.

So I write about the darkness in my room

Under the bed basked in fainted weed's perfume

Words upon words I spun for the Boogeyman

the Nightmare from away my childhood ran.

Years he ruled his empire of chaos under my cradle

I lead investigations there a dozen times

and only found half eaten cookies and a dusty bagel.

Then one day he left.

If only I had known he was just sitting back.

For he now didn't needed to do anything

My teenage life was enough entertaining.

The Boogeyman just sits there everyday

and sees me becoming the society's prey.

Now a then he let's out a dark chuckle

mostly when I sits down to write and cracks my knuckles.

Sometimes he goes through my strings of letters

Grimacing at my rubbish marksmanship like a true mentor.

He goes around poking in my
'' Neanderthal skull ''

Leaving some interesting spices so his entertainment won't be dull.

He grins at me as I write about him

but shrinks back in shadows as I shines my torch on dark rims

The Boogeyman thinks its cool to be just known by a pseudonym

hence I credit this poem to a 'Dream'.