Dead poets hang
from shrunken trees:
ring-a-ring-a-roses,
a pocket full of posies,
singing dead songs,
lyrical flames ignite
numb corpses
Obsolete language from
skull faces, pensive troubadours:
satchels with free verse,
in a universe
devoid of logic
Look what you’ve done to me
Glittery blood under my eyes
You ignored my desperate pleas
You hastened my demise
Why have you done this to me?
I’m now dead to the world
You tossed me in black seas
I drift in the netherworld
The ghost in our house
Tortured spirit roams here
In a long white dress
Yearning to be free and out
Of her purgatory life
Here’s a piece of horror/gothic flash fiction about insomnia, ghosts, and strangers that always reappear. It’s about 700 words and has an estimated reading time of about 3 minutes. Let me know what you think!
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We find peace in cemeteries,
severe paths leading to
shaded plots of land
under hazy streetlight –
take my hand,
tell me you love me,
make me feel it, damnit,
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