Long Before You Grow to Hate

Her footsteps: a cascade of echos,
Down the halls, unearthly bellows.
Others flee in terror from an unknown fear.
One waits for her motives to be quite clear.
From under the door light betrays,
Where she stops to softly say,
“Come out to play my little one,
The day is over but the night is young.
Think not on the coming days,
Where I’ve to show you where your mind strays.”
She tries the lock, but I’ve planned it
To keep safe from such bandits.
She tries and tries and tries and tries again.
Lights return to normal it seems,
She leaves to find another it seems,
All too late I find I’ve made a grave mistake.
For as I planned and locked my door tightly,
There was a crack open just so slightly,
There to permit a small draft of cold air to enter my room.
As she had so many times before,
Ridden a cold draft beneath my bedroom door,
I swore to myself next time I’d not make the same mistake.
A cruel, cold laughter filled the air
And I, just sat frozen there as each other time she’d come and sing herself softly into my thoughts.
My ego death is nigh and I,
Feel my mind slipping by,
She takes hold of and steps into my mind one final time.
Her footsteps do not seem so painful
As my memory would have been able to remind me so and instill in me this fear.
She walks about and then sits down
She takes for herself a crown,
A crown that once belonged to me and says: “You’ll see, the night will pass and suns will rise
I may become something you dispise,
But long before you grow to hate
You’ll close your eyes and accept your fate.”

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