The Ghost of Brighton Moor

Dirty night gown - where have you been?
your flesh pale now - the color of snow
thirteen times the mantra it whispers
and wraps itself around like threads of silver.
The Ghost of Brighton Moor
you'll remember the white veil
and the corpses you left behind
you're tragic legacy, how it chokes and binds.
You walk through darkness, among the nightshade
turning all to black ice underneath your touch
the place you lay is empty of you
you'll never find rest under the elucidation of the moon.
The moor turns like a sinister shadow
with you in its wake
you defile the air with your eerie song
wrap yourself in the veil, for the night will be long.
Your image in the mirror, always breaking and bleeding
just like the multitude of drowing faces in the purple lake
the filament you spun around all you had embraced
how it plaited the chains that now bind your fate.
If only you could reverse the moment
alter it somehow in the book of time
but the saints have cursed your afterlife
and forever your eyelids will be stained in black.