A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.

There are countless stories
living, breathing in my bones
begging to be freed,
piercing the unknown.
Each day conjures a tale
that plays out within my mind,
a world that seems so real to me,
who knows what I may find.
My subconscious divided
between this world and my own;
A thousand lives have settled
and made myself their home.

a smattering of silver freckles
cover her wide eyes
her teeth are made of tin
a tongue that tastes like copper,
razor sharp and thin
her skin is the color of slate
hard and cold and pure
a granite gargoyle skeleton
a dark and gray allure

If you had opened the door, and saw me the way I thought everyone did,
You’d see a skeleton sitting in an armchair
She’s missing her left arm, from the elbow down,
wilting, as if trying to see something closer, as if it were important,
blooming from her skull, wide cracks… canyons through her pearl bone
and in her hand, a brain.
You’re not quite sure if it was once hers
or a stranger’s
She’s clutching it, digging her sharpened fingers into it,
Holding back just enough
But you opened the door,
and saw a human body made of glass
with fairy lights weaving their way through each limb
and roses blossoming from her mind
and she turned and looked at you
and you actually saw at her
because you were actually looking for me

i've been seeing ghosts for
as long as i can remember now.
they sit idly on my bed,
              making small talk with
the skeletons who play poker
on my closet floor.
they call. flush, straight,
empty hands as the cards fall through
the gaps between their fingers.
together they brush worries
out of my hair, one by one.
they have nothing else to do,
                      and neither do i.

as strands of my hair are
placed gently behind my ear.
they speak to me,
but mostly among themselves.
"i can't tell you when it gets better, kid.
i can't tell you if it ever does."