there is a ghost beneath the stairs
with long and cracking finger-bones,
i do not know how she got there.
maggots crawl in matted hair.
the corridors, she stalks alone.
there is a ghost beneath the stairs.
a hollow grin, an empty stare,
protruding ribs and collarbones.
i do not know how she got there.
the howling wind is cold and bare,
the air is thick with growls and groans.
there is a ghost beneath the stairs.
the muted voice of some despair
is cracked with age and overgrown.
i do not know how she got there.
a shroud of rags is all she wears.
they killed her once with sticks and stones.
there is a ghost beneath the stairs,
i do not know how she got there.
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