I told her not to meddle with things
that you're not relevant anymore (when it's not yours anymore).

There she is, free and fully alive
and getting under my skin. I heard the same story from a different scenario, from a different girl— I guess it just revolves around, like a folklore, that casts an eerie shadow in the forest, that creeps in the cabins, that makes your skin crawl during a conversation in front of a fireplace.

Love was pure, until it gets you mad
she makes me furious, she's the whole carnival of a grotesque memory, an embodiment of regret and persiflage comparison, a harlot dances under the moonlight luring for a tryst, who wanted to build a so called 'home' when her body is on fire, burning in the pits of hell.
She's crawling, she comes back, and I know where to find her, even if she hides like a burglar, she makes a perfect storm and she knows what's to come.

I told her not to meddle with things that are mine, like her last remains left rotten in the cabins where the stories kept hidden, buried and every piece will remain unknown.

I was always at the precipice—
between my sanity and my own chaos
They said, we were connected by a thread, and all of the events around us is not a momentary scene nor from nowhere.
Threads connect the dots, entangled through the hands of a lover, and it treads a path where it can come back to you.

your ghost will haunt you back more than your old rags and ***** laundry. crows will haunt you down like a bounty.

I love you with all my heart
and all my life, and I promise to come back strong from my isolation
cradled in dormant, buried in bones
it's a heaven-sent; they sang to me as if it's a moonstruck, it kissed me.

I made him a lullaby everyday —
like it was drunk to something I don't want to be - maybe a desire. I'm still on your bed side in the morning, like it is something we're bewitched into.

We're a love song, as the stars waltz at the night sky, nestled in between us, I love how my hair cascades on the side of my neck, as you lay onto them, perfectly, like perched on the windowsill, daydreaming.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

It's a clockwork — like the dances of phantoms in the hallways, in the glow of lights through the window at night. I stared like a burglar from afar, It's the fear and anger, that's keeping me restless — a reminder that I should sleep with one eye open, meager, furiously shame.

I understand how stubborn they are rewriting the history, as I try to recollect, catching trails like they were footsteps. Love is all they worship from the beginning of time, thus it crumbles them to dust.

Are they second - hand embarrassed? If I couldn't see the ghosts and shadows lingering everywhere, yet here I am nestled to all that fairy tale, for a momentary, and still plotting the sweetest lullaby. Did they haunt you too? as if it were a chunk to the armour or it counterfeits them?

"It's a growing pain, like the sky watches me, as the water burdens my very life, a grotesque scene in a tranquil swamp, surrounded with all the flowers I only see as I lay there. It will be my forever lament, a maim into my soul, for the love that gets the best in me, it did the best of me, it is truly a crime."

Words told like a bestowed prayer, it vanishes through the wind as she lays there, submerged by the swamp.