There exists an itch // nestled in our brains // calling for destruction // but violent vicissitudes alone // won’t subdue it // It craves the infestation of our core // On its command // we allow ourselves // to follow a sordid aroma // into the one corner // of our homes // where light never touches // We lap at this manufactured darkness // with dry tongues // just to know how death tastes // It is in this corner // I found // the soundtrack of a haunted home
- a song for the dead eyes of a child left behind
- in the distance a mother sings, slowly
- the pit in your stomach has grown into an orchard
- someone has come to chop you down
- an oppressive silence
- purple nailbeds six feet on the rise (clawing madly)
- a noise best digested with fingers pressed firmly in your ears
- an unspoken whimper, aged 13 years in your tender throat
- footsteps of a familiar foe
- a lullaby for someone else
And as the last chord struck my ears // I realized the haunting had left // the home and buried itself between my molars // And every word I spoke thereafter // would possess a frequency // only other ghosts could hear.
Kassandra Kum is a poet living in a small town in New York. Now a recent graduate with a BA in English, she spends her free time pursuing her hobbies such as: borrowing books from the home of every person she’s ever met, perfecting a brooding stare in a coffee shop, and sighing woefully on her front porch during a thunderstorm.