Poetry and other musings from a haunted mind(all poetry written by me, Haunted Lunacy, unless otherwise labeled. IG:@hauntedlunacypoetry
TikTok:@haunted_lunacy
Website:hauntedlunacypoetry.blogspot.com
Behold the dance of the rattling bones, see how they click and clack, the prancing of their skeleton feet, a ballet to dazzle and to distract. They pirouette with skinless glee, then arabesque and take a bow, and with a smile the king is pleased, his loyal subjects did amaze and wow. Hail to the king! We only exist to entertain. Hail to the king! We pick up our bones and dance again .
The poets curse is to hold this pen, to write the words that hurt within, to weep alone and spill this ink, when all he wants is to cease to think. These pages stained with memories so dear, he keeps them close and pretends she’s near. Immortal words, his ink will flow, he can never truly let her go.
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