A raven visits me, like Poe.Continue reading
Tree branches gather ‘round my neck.Continue reading
My ghost wanders the city’s streets.Continue reading
The old man speaks of phantoms. He lay on his death-bed, and his face is ashen and sickly.
“Our home,” he says, “it’s haunted. Haunted by my sins. Haunted by my father’s sins, and his father’s sins.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.Continue reading
In my dreams, I’m buried alive.Continue reading