The ZenAlarm

Written 2/2/2010. Writing this poem thoroughly creeped me out more than expected. I don't get creeped out by much. Enjoy.
I opened to a random page in my book "The Writer's Block" by Jason Rekulak and this is what I came to:

Alarm Clock Openings

"It's a common starting point for many of the stories in a creative writing workshop: An alarm clock sounds. The narrator drags himself to the bathroom and scrutinizes his weary face in the mirror. Then he showers, dresses, grabs the newspaper, and sits down to breakfast. Perhaps he watches television, or has an anxious thought about an important meeting in the afternoon. Meanwhile, the reader of the story is halfway through page four or five, wondering when something interesting is going to happen.

""Alarm Clock Openings" are appealing because they convey a wealth of information about a character's home, lifestyle, and social standing. Richard Wright's Native Son begins with an alarm clock ringing, and we discover that Bigger Thomas lives in a cramped one-room apartment with his mother, brother, and sister. But no less than a minute later, Bigger is bludgeoning a giant rat with a skillet, demonstrating the pent-up aggression that will surface again later in the novel. This scene works because it defies the conventions of a typical morning routine; write your own Alarm Clock Opening that does the same."

The ZenAlarm


incessant blaring from a small [rectangular box]
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
glowing red with lament
a covering of ears, a startled shriek
high-pitched turned low drawn out moan
of desperationEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
she has been awake for a spell
awoken for days-awoken four days
with each new bombardment
(of how many dB does an alarm clock make?)
comes a revived panic
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
it tempts her with its Siren
songEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
petrified to draw near, its face holds a menacing glow
its mouth emanating with the crimson of blood
emanating with the cry of the banshee
"But do you attempt stabbing out your eardrums because you fear getting near the box to turn it off?"
two days prior she searched for the box's manual
rummaged in drawers, in backs of closets
for any semblance of how to stop it from continuing
her search was futile
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
and now she sits in a far corner
eyes wide open, mouth agape, hands over ears
unable to stop the sou-
unable to stop the
unable to stop
unable to
unaBEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
she seizes her face
scratches with nails, flaked black fingernails,
drawing blood with red light blEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP..........
--

She was found in a disheveled room;
mattress, clothes, and furniture thrown asunder.
Dried blood and DNA caked under nails, flake black,
some remnants remaining in open wounds
framing her frozen expression.
Her eyes open tight, hands as claws,
muscles rigid. Rigor mortis had yet to set in.
Alone in a room of white.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
a corpse's only company.
It cut through the stillness,
leaving a bizarre ringing in the ears...
BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEP.