Poetry

The Cursed

“But darling, the dead never truly die,
and the truth will always come back.”

Can you feel the chill in the air? The wet cold that seeps into your bones? Can you hear the whispers that carry on the wind? The ones that know all your secrets? They are the ghosts that linger. The ones you can’t shake, no matter how far you run. They are the memories you’ve tried to bury where no one will ever find them. But darling, the dead never truly die, and the truth will always come back for you.

Call it karma. Call it divine justice. Call it whatever you want. Those bones in your past will not stay silent about the monstrous things you’ve done. And it’s your curse to bear.

© Sarah Doughty
2018

It was never
supposed to be mine.

8 thoughts on “The Cursed”

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