Penny Dreadfull

“A penny for your dread?” Bequests the breath of what is dead. A wretched reek bequeathed by foul beasts, Whose beaks do spread the fuel of feasts. Lack in threat by the vacant mind, Despite the curse of that which space provides. Cheers to fears from fearless queers whose thirst is but a wish to quench, The dearest tears shed in ashen shores who share the depth of an endless trench. Fill the folly of cavity with silver serpent spies, Whose eyes are lights of posted lamps aglow by slithered lies. “Whisper, whisper, hear me mister,” Says the pervading voice of an elder sister, Twisting the skin into a coagulating yellow blister.