I died many moons ago,
A forgotten yesteryear,
A summer of discord,
Stinking heat of golds and silvers,
All burns and bugs,

I amble these haunted houses,
And cemetery streets,
Shadowed by a convoy of corpseflies,
Just a walking dead,
A dusky cadaver,

Invisible to most,
Save for those of a similar spiritual leaning,
Bumping into the unwary,
Shrieking banshee tunes,
A miserable poltergeist,

I’m a wraith,
What killed me?
It’s hard to say,
Memories can be eerie mirages,
But I believe it resemebled Eros.

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