Disclaimer: Ain't mine

A/N: Please review! I know it's short…

Pockets

The sky is black,

rivers run red,

rain pours down,

clouds have bled.

They sense us,

they smell our fear,

we cannot see them,

but us they can hear.

We cannot see the monsters,

only feel the putrid breath,

coating our necks

with the stench of death.

Branches and bushes

whip at our faces,

but thee unseen

can keep up with our paces.

The moonlight was hidden

in the pockets of clouds,

the sky is still black,

covered by dreamy, dark shrouds.