a plume of smoke billows
in the harbour of my soul
and your crow bead eyes
and my black cat moods
make for good companions.
i turn my hand like i'm
boiling and bubbling
my cauldron of vengeful
lost voices, before
twisting my arm forward,
beckoning you with all my fingers,
one by one, to come closer
if you dare.
YOU ARE READING
OF SANITY AND MOODS AND SUCH
PoetryWelcome ghosts and mischievous tricksters. In this season of delightful spooks and devious treats, this mini poetry chapbook explores frightful fears and possession like it's a horror film, but outside, the autumn leaves fall down, and you're wrappe...
