worth is not in my vocabulary,
I am without it.
there is no worth around me,
no value or importance.
leaving myself to believe
that worth is just a construct.
I will not focus on it,
for I am utterly useless.
holding on to anything
that will get me through the day,
nothing that contains worth.
there is no point in the world,
yet I am still searching for it.

Really not the kind of girl
people write poems
or make paintings about.

Rather, the one that will
leave you looking forever
for that perfect word,
for that perfect color.

Creak and groan goes the rusty hinges on the gate. The moon is full and the hour late. A cold wind blows from the north and an old cat wails. A dog barks then howls. Curtains are drawn tight and a single light is on, it lights the long hall that goes down to the master bedroom. Many people have tried to stay in this place, but now no one would dare. The neighbors never speak of what happened there. On a night such as this, all the doors are shut up tight. People huddle under their covers for fear of things in the night. For those who would live to see tomorrow will not even pass by the house with the creaking and rusty gate. They fear that they will become the next victim of the haunting of  house 1628!