In dim light the others come through

wearing faces sewn from silk and gold

distorted in agony and seething bliss

They whisper of things waiting at the edges

always more to come when shadows deepen

and light falls on skin beginning to dissolve

so close now to forgetting what it ever was to feel alive

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Some nights just seem to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up for no reason. I wonder why that is.

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Image by Frank Winkler from Pixabay