Stuttering Mary

She stood in a chilly, foggy, wet cemetery; With no sense how she got there, Her name was Stuttering Mary, And she was a beauty with long raven hair. Her pale wet arms seemed to have a glowish tint, Like the soaked white gown that clung to her like a second skin. She begin to remember a horrible accident, And a place she was travelling she had never been. She recalls the sound of twisting metal, Her hand reaching out for incoming glass. Her foot can't seem to find the break pedal, And she watches her life begin to pass. She trys to spit her words out properly, But the gurgle from the blood gushes out of her throat. She suddenly remembers the tragedy, And being covered by someone's warm coat. She felt a sudden chill to the bone, Covering her mouth she thought this was a dream; She looked down to read the head of a tombstone, But the living can not hear the 'dead' scream!