Beneath cobwebbed eaves of an alleyway’s gloom,
Lies a shop of shadows, a collector's tomb.
Where lanterns flicker with ghostly light,
And whispers of spirits drift through the night.
A bell tolls softly as you creak through the door,
Into a realm where time’s lost its lore.
Shelves sag with volumes, ancient and cursed,
Bound in skin, inked with blood and its thirst.
Curios gleam with a spectral glow,
Skulls with eyes that seem to know.
A shrunken head murmurs secrets dark,
Next to a dagger that’s left its mark.
Glass jars hold hearts that never ceased beating,
Petrified fingers, a coven’s last meeting.
A tarnished mirror cracked wide,
Reflects not your face, but horrors inside.
A clock with hands that move in reverse,
Counts down to doom, a silent curse.
Candles flicker, casting a ghastly scene,
Shadows dance with a macabre sheen.
An old man appears, with eyes of void,
A grin that chills, a joy destroyed.
He offers a trinket, cold to the touch,
A pendant that promises far too much.
You turn to leave, but the door’s disappeared,
Replaced by darkness, suffused with fear.
His whisper echoes, a final refrain,
"Welcome, dear guest, to your eternal domain."
And in that shop, where nightmares abide,
Your soul joins the relics, forever tied.
((haunting photograph taken with 35mm film), ([multiple short exposures] overlay [long exposure] for spectral tracing effect))