Death Of The Five Senses Poem by Desiree Eaton

Hello little creeper
sitting in the shadows
Do you see the light?
Is the moon too bright for you?

I'll hold your hand.
Come out now.
Do you hear the whispers?
Are the cries too harsh for you?

Walk with me.
Into the wooded land
Do you smell the fear?
Are the damned too sarcastic for you?

Let us play together
in the red sea
Do you taste the flesh?
Are the sins too horrifying for you?

Acting as one
strolling to hells gate
Do you feel the blood?
Are the nails too painful?