Hallows’ Eve holds no fears.

That the dead

Are clamouring at the gaunt midnight cloth

That separates from is and was;

Bleak, imagined graves ripe with corpse worms,

Autolysis

And unrequited life,

Hold no terrors.

 

Their thin music of nails on glass,

Sadness leaking, like a tap.

Their skull rolling forward like

A coal in the grate

Extinguishing the flame so the room is cupped

In thick, mauve darkness.

These,

Hold no fright.

 

 

It is the haunted, dragged footstep of living,

Every day;

To be a spectre in your own macabre skin,

That seizes your

Fibrillating grume of heart

In a grip as chill as a bone white slab

fat with frozen veins of dank blood,

that

Stuffs your mouth

Until- you-cannot-breathe.

 

Hallows Eves holds no fears.

 

To daily live,

But not, to breathe.

This is where

The fear gets in;

To feel haunted in your own skin.

 

 

 

Dan Belton 31/10/2019 Hallowe’en