Tales From The Haunt

Poem by Ariana Alvarado

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It always begins when the sun is still hot.
The chill in your bones could rival 
The winter;
The dirty gloves in my grip,
Unwashed and covered in 
Alcohol based makeup,
The kind that smells like medicine,
And the unknown debris of my home.
Out in the woods there is a cottage,
Where an organ always plays on loop
The same song, without ceasing,
That has driven me insane.