The Face On Legs

The Face On Legs

There’s something about cellars that inspire terror in human hearts. Or at least, in my heart. They’re dark and damp and exceedingly creepy. Most children, at one point or another, will have let their imagine run a little too wild and pictured terrible creatures living down there. This poem is about one of those creatures.

The Face On Legs

The face on legs
Down in my cellar
Drank tea dregs
Til you could smell ‘er

Thing of no worth
You released
And now the Earth
Must face this beast

I suppose now wouldn't be a good time to mention the ears on arms in my loft?

I suppose now wouldn’t be a good time to mention the ears on arms in my loft?

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