We all go down to Blood Forest
Every night after a gibbous moon.
We all go down to Blood Forest
Just past the greyish disease lagoon.
Round matrons carrying red vinyl handbags
Lusty salesmen awash in Brut cologne.
Identically dressed preteen cartographers
And awkward officers on cheap telephones.
We all go down to Blood Forest
Every night after a gibbous moon.
We all go down to Blood Forest
Just past the greyish disease lagoon.
We learn of blunt force head trauma
We learn of compound fractures too.
We learn of concussions and repercussions
And what flamboyant flesh-eaters will do.
We all go down to Blood Forest
Every night after a full full moon.
We all go down to Blood Forest
Just past the grey disease lagoon.
Everybody has blood on their t-shirts
Now only nine refuse to participate.
But at this exact time next month
I know that number will be down to eight.
I'm still in shock you wrote a full length poem. Very Halloween and macabre, fully fleshed out as a piece, one might say. ;) Stanza two is so full of descriptive goodies - my fav for sure. Shades of picking the short straw. Loved the grey disease lagoon, and "gibbous moon" rolls off the tongue.