From the old house in the planes
I can hear it from the hay,
The night quickly turned eerie
At the whistling miles away.

As I said into the dark
“Soon he’ll be around “,
Phantom tales coming back
The child cowered from the fire,

“If it sounds close, then he’s far,
If it sounds far, then he’s close”,
The man with the hat and matching coat
Dragging heavy bag of bones.

Cursed by his mother
Because he killed his father,
He roams till the end of time
He already got my brother.

He is roaming your neighborhood
When you hear the clanking sounds,
Now it’s my turn at last
To go join them in the bag.

You griped their shoulders,
Squeezed them tight,
Your grooming obvious
To the double glance.

I swallowed sharply
The tacks of guilt,
Mounted creeping
Showing on the board.

Your heavy stare
As she walks by,
I think of the word
That ends in “phile”.

Your vile intentions
Are wrapped around
A tight thin sheen
Of relating bands.

The coffee poisoned,
And water too,
With drops of degrees
That made you swoon.

You whispered softly
Into my ear,
I resisted from vomiting
The truth in clear.

Remaining silent,
I sat in class,
You resumed your dance,
And I kept my rage.

After your departure,
I shared my point of view,
Of way the you touched them,
They remained as fools.

Oblivious to the threat,
To conditioned ways,
In their innocence,
They enjoyed your game.

Never garnered any attention
From the ones that craved the angst,
For my figure didn’t move across the stage
Swaying flowers petals, blooming hands.

And my dancing never charming
Like the red light of the rose,
For I never rode upon horses,
Gliding swiftly through the snow.

And from my patchy, ashen face
Muddy, sepia eyes gave too much away,
Rivers flowing through emotion, no space,
For chaotic disarray messing your lake.

Never thought to think twice,
Gaze skipping over me like stones
Missing out on all the stories,
That the dreamer once thought of.