Cemetary, down in Guama,
Clarivoyants, see and hear the dead.
In these houses, this is common,
The dead are jealous, of the lives we have.

PASS! Leave! Look for God!
PASS-PASS-LEAVE!
You don't belong here anymore!

Reach my husband, reach my children,
Green and black- rank and raw liquid.
Thought I saw things, Then I smelled things,
There's a presence, trapped behind my mirror…

And in this place, clarivoyance; any inkling- it will surely bloom.
Hear the footsteps, see the faces, smell the rot and listen as they speak…
And they'll speak, how they'll speak!

There's a pattern, to the losses,
Exact places, many the same way---

DECOMPOSITION. SEEPS INTO WATER. HALLUCINATION. A POISONED VICTIM.