The Plague / Mutants - Robert Zeman

The Plague / Mutants - Robert Zeman

The Plague

Poor Anneliese Michel,

possessed by 


she died in her bed,

emaciated and insane.

A beautiful 

young girl

gone too soon.

But I can


the night terrors,

the sweats,

the flashing pangs 

of fear.

I’ve been

plagued by

my own evil spirits.

I drank them


at punk shows


seedy bars.

There was

never enough

beer to

drown out

the voices.

They crept up 

on me

like a nightmare,

like a thief 

in the night,

like poor Annaliese,

alone and


in her tiny bedroom.


His room was

always the same:

Billy Childish


on the stereo,

a bottle

of cheap rum

and an ashtray

full of cigarettes.

We passed

the rum around


insane pirates,

as clouds of smoke

drifted around

our bodies.

The later the

night went on,

the louder

the music got.

At around

3 a.m.

his mother would 

pound on the door.

“Get these

people out!”

she’d scream.

We’d head


into the 

cold winter,

our heads

dumb with alcohol,

our ears

deaf from lo-fidelity.

Robert Zeman.jpg

About the Author

ROBERT ZEMAN is a 2007 graduate of the Creative Writing program at F.S.U.

He can also be found here: