𝕝𝕪𝕟𝕘𝕓𝕒𝕜𝕣𝟠𝟚

There began a ticking in the basement.

In which we reach the moment of reckoning

What does it look like when a poem is born?

We don't know all there is to know about the things that go bump in the night.

In which things look hopeless and we learn an interesting truth

a strange encounter in the dead of night

In which we have one more moment of calm

The moon, the tree, the picket fence, and the pain of leaving

In which we reach a turning point

In which we get a glimpse into the past

They never forgave, and they never forgot.

In which things take a turn for the worse