Mr. Nightmare

He stands under the flickering street lamp A suit of black silk and suede Glinting a brooding red from corner to corner A sharp smirk leans against a cane of bone and obsidian His eyes, white with a blooded crack, clever, wait behind a striking brim Any poisoned by his frigid, barren eyes feel familiar Lightning bouncing in a glass cage Winter abiding within a dank prison Stone in the soul of a shoe A thing of incredulous stature captivates every hand His cane bruises every bone The whisper of stoic lips Earnest shade of every choice He is seen by all but never looked at The smell of discomfort He walks with the wind, but stands unabiding Unborn, all to natural Mr. Nightmare