In the foggy hills of Appalachia,
through thickets of trees and brush, stood
a hidden house that was falling apart
as mold ate away at the wood,

and inside lay the palest being
that had hooks stabbed deep in its flesh.
It had cracked lips and a throbbing throat
that the sweetest water could not refresh.

"Come close cousin, and cry for me,
"I'm breathing my last." It said.
So closer I came, then it opened its eyes
they were colored the purest red,

and dazzled with innocence against the haunted house
they brought forth bright light from the dark,
red and white seemed to contrast well
and created quite a spark,

till the pure red did begin to fade,
and white turned to ashy gray.
I tore my heart from my chest as a sacrifice
but cried when the reaper said it couldn't stay.

It turns out a pale outline is much preferred
to empty space in the broken place
for I see nothing within that simple frame,
and it sticks out as the end of an unjust face.