A Testimony for the Lonely

Words for a Predecessor

It's not the house that's haunted,

It's yourself,

Inner workings strained and rotted,

Patronize my bright eyed conscience,

I swallow deceitful correspondence,

And reach for the salt.

Incessantly you haunt yourself,

Then plead the fifth

And cry for help,

Cry wolf cry wolf

You cheat yourself,

Grow fur grow fangs

Alone you yelp,

Canonize my youthful eyes

Then let your shadow dine on mine,

Don't wonder why my eyes are black

They starve for light, my sun has set,

It's not the house that's haunted. It's yourself,

You ought to have more prescience

Of the spirits at your cornerstone,

On your infallible self you've built such a reliance

That you often forget you have holes.