Nov 2019
This fear has stricken me,
Sweat trails down like a foreboding shadow.
Forbidden calligraphy marks the walls,
On tortured wood that holds our sacrilegious scrawls.
Repeatedly caught running from that abhorrent phobia,
Never seeming to be rid of that sense of crippling dysphoria.
I will adore yet remain remote from this place,
From this horrible, mossy awning to an earthly casket.
It remains haunted throughout its elongated hallways,
Forever causing intermittent whirlpools in the mind's eye.
Sweat trails down like a foreboding shadow.
Forbidden calligraphy marks the walls,
On tortured wood that holds our sacrilegious scrawls.
Repeatedly caught running from that abhorrent phobia,
Never seeming to be rid of that sense of crippling dysphoria.
I will adore yet remain remote from this place,
From this horrible, mossy awning to an earthly casket.
It remains haunted throughout its elongated hallways,
Forever causing intermittent whirlpools in the mind's eye.
I wrote this while listening to "Haunted" by Poe. Arguably my favorite song of hers. It carries such a sorrowful yet ghostly tune. Her brother is the author of "House of Leaves" an amazing book, which I also used as inspiration.
