The fog lifts its pale cloak and I sneak right in.
I walk the graveyard of people who made me sin.
The white candles try to pass their flames to me,
But I no longer want to make rage my legacy.
My feet slide by dark nocturnal romances
And the lovers I’ve lost by refusing slow dances.
The church in the distance plays a wanderer’s song.
I pray to the devil I’ll never get the words wrong.
I see a neat little grave where I buried my fangs,
Thinking being righteous won’t slaughter any lambs.
The messy hole in the ground escapes my vision.
We both know I’m no good with superstition.
There’s a well that I used for screaming curses,
The black water soaked up every line in cursive.
I know that the sun won’t rise over me,
But once you start digging graves, you’re never free.
The fog lifts its pale cloak and I sneak right in.
I walk the graveyard of people who made me sin.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 