October Tension

While you dance in the streets with the white sheet covering all but ghoul ridden eyes, she is lying on the porch–as rotted as last Halloween’s carved delight. She is blanked in candy wrappers filled with innocent sugar crystals, heartbeat severed by the iridescent gleam of the black cat’s iris.

The patchwork costume, now stored until the next celebration for the dead walking amongst blush cheeks and pounding pulses, pulled even and folded to a crisp–placed to lie in the coffin of a brown paper box.


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