Genre: Dark Poem
By Olabimpe Adedamola
3 min Read
The children of the forest play wild and dangerous games.
I ask mother if i can join them and let bones hand from tangled dreadlocks.
She reminds me I am a civilized flower with a gentle face.
I want to tell her about the midnight dancing.
The taste of LSD.
The magic mushrooms.
The children of the forest reek of gore and horror.
Guillotine is their favourite game as they carry baskets full of heads.
I see them in the graveyard teasing and taunting the dead.
They thread their clothes with ghosts that make them shine under the night sky.
I stick the scissors in mother’s neck, and paint my sunflower dress with the crimson fountain pouring from her body.
Am i a child of the forest now?
They do not hesitate to accept me.
The smell of blood on my sweet innocent face seems to intoxicate them and they are dancing.
We are dancing.
Feral little children with death trailing behind us.
Life is screaming at me to be delicate.
But i want people to be afraid of hurting me.
I write poems and then the occasional short stories that i can never seem to turn into a novel!
I love dogs, music and books.