New Poem: Room 105

I got the inspiration for this poem by watching  Angel Season 3 Episode 6 "Billy". The first part of the poem is from Fred's perspective, the second is from Wesley's.

Room 105

Raised voices, shrieking sounds

A faint figure hits the ground.

Bloodied axe glistens grim.

She flees from the ever-present him.

Without conscience, without remorse

Racing through the hotel concourse;

Hiding, scampering, whimpering,

Poor Winifred hides.

My soul is an abode

Where hellspawn breeds.

Heart beats, but my pulse slows

As I feel my new form grow.

Alas, my icy heart shatters:

Billy ripped it to tatters.

But lo! a primal urge lingers.

As terror streaks down my fingers