spookhouse



i miss your shadow on the wall these gray october mornings, all the candles have burned away their wicks, the windows swell shut in the rain in this house were we used to live, and there are echoes in the eaves that sound like you singing soft and low, this is your ghost in every photograph i have and these are the songs that play over and over...

oOoOO - oOoOO

No comments:

Post a Comment