dark poetry
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Black-laced branches, a cracked stone step, and a doorway barely touched by candlelight mark a house that does not wish to be fully seen.
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Maybe ghosts smoke too; something upstairs answers while the candle throws impossible shadows and the exhaled smoke never comes back out.
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The candle bows toward an empty doorway before she understands the old house is not as abandoned as it appears.
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At twilight, candlelight and cannabis turn an abandoned ivy-covered house into a place where smoke, grief, and old walls share the same air.
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Beneath the moon beside a house reclaimed by forest, a small flame and glowing ember make the night feel older than it should.
