Some ghosts just drifted and kept safe,
Their case was the throats of some guile,
The twitching never ceased, never the style
Of events in this welcome air of residues reddened.
Blood was sensed by these special ghosts,
Blackness seemed oblivion, for the rights were sent.
Throats had been slit so the road meant danger,
Danger rolled into view, for the advantage was gained,
Forever in events evolving, little ribbons aerated the room.
Some were north, and some were south,
This clinical entry and exit remade a metre
To be exterior and private to the nature of some.
These gashes backed up the day,
A little blood blackened the stay;
Broken twigs mastered the ghosts of hideousness.