Lady of the Graveyard


Her grave was wrapped
with twists and turns.
She planned some deaths,
made bridges burn.
Old Noir, she was
a black-and-white devil
speaking words
on an ungodly tongue.
Smoke and mirrors,
she was a rose with legs.
So beautiful,
you could run your hand
up her legs and never
notice the prick.
Blood red lips
now run white and cold.

It becomes ironic
that her grave is
engulfed with thorns and vine,
suffocating her like she did
to others.
Her beauty was in her charm.
Now, her beauty lies in her headstone.

Family came to visit
and learn of her nature,
never to visit again.
Nature takes its toll
on her plot,
for it stopped her plotting.
Grave moments lay dead
with a dead soul in a grave.
Leaves cover. Winter holds.
Spring birds. Summer heat.
Don’t tempt her with anything
human, she was never human.


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