The haunted halls moan
forlornly in my ear.

Spirits waste not
the hunger of
ghost hunters

who seek souls lost
in a sea of wretchedness.

Local haunts consume the
interminable and
the interminable consume

the yearnings that superficially
fill my voids from within.

They make me pitiable in the shadows
of loves long lost
that make way down the

darkened hallways of my desolate
prison.

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