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Poor thing, Clara, she was the perfect child

But sin is an effort to gain the ecstasy and the  
 knowledge that pertain alone to angels and in  
 making this effort man becomes a demon.
” (Arthur Machen, 1904)  
 
Poor thing, Clara, she was the perfect child.  
The old bathroom is stripped down to the bone,  
The prettiest skirts, and her little scraped-up knees,  
only broken tiles and cobwebs remaining.  
 
AND her infectious smile. Oh, what a shame.  
The yellow stain where an imported  
The losses we suffer in times like these.  
marble vanity probably used to be.  
 
She used to be such a perfect child.  
 
What her parents must have thought about  
The wood trim that hadn’t rotted away  
the things that her rotten hands were doing.  
looked like it had become food for the rats.  
 
I’ve heard all about the unspeakable things.  
This quiet cursed place has held onto  
Sometimes I feel as though I’m cursed.  
her ever since then. that poor thing Clara…  
 
The Witch of the Henry Estate they call her...  
Hear her scuttle and whisper in the walls.
Written by afinestranger
Published
Author's Note
This is the first poem I have finished in 2 years so it might be a little rough around the edges.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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