I’m not honest anymore
I have joined the ranks of the elite
in the high-vaulted rafters of the abandoned church
we throw beer bottles at the pews and watch them shatter
and we chime laughter through the empty halls
echoing further outward
in a misty valley somewhere far outside and below
an old man rushes home chased by a mocking-ghost
he'll sit in front of the television tomorrow morning
with chattering teeth, mumbling to himself
"I thought banshees were supposed to scream."
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