Schizo

The blades of grass are wet with rain,
In the graveyard of the criminally insane.

The water seeps through soil and oak,
To touch the dead flesh of those slumbering below.

Awakened by a desperate thirst,
They drink in new life, as through the ground they burst.

Slimy skin so wrinkled and white,
With shrill screams of pain they writhe into the night.

The sleeping world knows not what waits,
To gnaw on their bones, just outside the town gates.

Heh.