Creased, crumbled in this battered down house.
A witch lost of tricks, with space left where spirit lay.
Smashed and split windows, leaking musty dust.
Fingernails blunt and dirt ridden, blood mingling with soil.
Tousled curls and bleary eyes, aside an empty grave,
Hands latched around this body that doesn't want to be held.

Evidence feeding electric hatred.
Her palms are black, and theirs were red.
Static numbness nursing the unknown, the unseen.
Precious wounds hidden by magic marker.
A sparkling fury lights their past placid stare.
Puncturing sadness, a blue rim turned grey.
Frozen tracks marking a chalk white face.
Apologies, apologies, never spent, never felt.

Outlined with charcoal, easily smudged.
Surrounded by ghosts, chilled and harsh voices.
An icy breeze preserving lonlieness through winter.
Searching for cracks in a once white ceiling.
Silent calm burnt by smoke, torture and misery.
A broken heart, indented with the flames that they threw.