The Deep Tile

A poem about a nightmare.

It is odd, like an optical illusion.

Sometimes you can see it,

Sometimes it’s just the floor.

But it’s always there, waiting. 

Everyone walks around it,

They all feel its presence somehow.

Each of them avoiding it,

As one would a piece of litter. 

In that hole is pain and terror.

You can see it on the faces of those you pull from its depths.

Their wide eyes bellowing in fear,

Their silent screams erupting from terrified teeth.

those who fall prey to its watery assault,

They pretend it never happened.

Life goes on for them, 

An inch closer to the chasm of madness.