Calculating eyes survey me in my sleep,
Callously watching me as I roam the graveyard.
Beating rapidly, my heart inspects those eyes.
Rasping voices ring in my ears, “You’re not good enough.
I was meant for him”.
Rushing, running, I hold him tightly
Fearing they will snatch him away.
Clawing, aching souls they are,
Moaning with loneliness.
Grasping, with their spindly hands,
They have no faces, no names.
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