Tiny vampires will crawl up your arms
searching for blood
or is it water
maybe the Catholics know which one
Never let your mind wander too much
you won't find your way back
always a bit lost in thought
a bit lost in reality
the ghosts haunting you ever so slightly
as they pass through your peripheral vision
Never settle for less
Questions will nest in trees and branches
And refuse to fly away
worse than the Catholics or the ghosts
They'll be permanent fixtures in your home
If you look back you'll turn into salt
Forward and you will be dead
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