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Literature
boo !
the smell of ice
and vampire bites
thrill is in the air
fright night –
flashing sights ,
blurred lights &
candy so bright .
the scare of a clown
when no one's around ,
terror abounds
in cul-de-sacs of sound .
run run run
the shrieking rattle of death's bony fingers –
oh my God !
never mind , just a Grim Reaper .
& at 3 a.m. , when
the cycles begin again —
you know you've found
the thrill in the sound
of
"Happy Halloween!"
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
Literature
perennial
grief visits me today.
he watches as i write about you,
putting his hand on my arm
to stop the words
from shaking.
the river of veins is a blue glare
beneath his waxen skin, the valleys
under his eyes dark with our shared
misery.
i don’t ask where he’s been, or why
he’s suddenly back. i don’t want to know
who else he’d been with
when he was gone.
“you look better,” he says, pulling my hand
from the notebook. he
kisses it, holds it to his cheek.
the weaker parts of my spirit surge at his cold
familiarity.
i trace the arch of his lips to avoid
his eyes, ask him if he’d forgotten
about m
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Denial is........more often than not, not necessarily a refusal of the truth, but a belief in the lies. A forced belief in lies.
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Absolutely.