What silent company that body keeps, and too much of it.
Beneath unsuspecting feet, the floorboards scream to be torn asunder---and looked up under.
She keeps too much company, forlorn company.
Grinning skulls revert to dirt, where hemorrhaging specters can feel no hurt.
Oh, can't they? Can't they?
Beneath tranquil parquet, cadavers claw in the night, wittering and prattling of previous plights.
---that body--hordes too much company.
Corpses tell no tales, but deaths born amiss can tell of hell.
A form appears, misshapenly grotesque, bursting forth with many guests!
What sickly display of poltergeist! What bizarre companions to behold!
A legion of wailing guests, boasting of their camaraderie with willing flesh.
Surely, 'tis only an illusion of mine weary person---
Some phantasmal dream, which has taken hold of my tired eyes!
What ghoul could overflow with such wraithlike decease?
And, lo! She knocks at your door!
© Copyright 2016 Jennifer Brighton. All rights reserved.