Maybe not bad writing, just bad story

Imagining something, under the floor,
handle rattling from behind a locked door,
run away,
down a dark lane,
a giant robot rises
from behind garages,

running down alleys
into bricked-up walls,
grips your ribs
with its clumsy claws,
drags you into its firing chest,
pressing mental probes-
onto your head,
through your mind-
to control your brain,
to destroy the world
your people made,

Don't let it happen,
go underground
through clay so brown,
where stone is chalky white,
yet now seeping red,
from the destruction overhead,
asif the world around is dead,
were all the horror films right?
citys of people kneeling shouting why,
at many meteors falling from the sky,
nuclear clouds all standing by...
will the world end tonight?