OOC: Can someone give my advice on my lyric essay?
<p style=text-align: center;> Haunted by Them
The moment I laid eyes upon the neglected tchotchke among the musty relics of the antique store, I’ve been haunted.
A pallid porcelain figure in a cardboard coffin. A babe letting out the first and final cry.
Blonde. Like my mother said He was.
A layer of dust serves as a baby blanket. Like His blanket I hold to my lips for a night of peaceful slumber.
Dolly is thirty like Him. Both frozen in time.
Both listless. Both cold.
It smells like impending rain. Clouds mimic the shade of the headstones. Air is heavy like my feet sinking into the spongy ground with every step.
It is chaos. Polished marble and mossy rock mingle like the brittle bones and rotting flesh below them. Old souls and new clash beneath the earth and in the muggy breeze.
Nothing is uniform. Graves are all shapes and sizes. No attempt was made to keep the tombstones in line, as if they were sprinkled from God’s colossal pepper shaker.
I wander the rows of crooked, rotting teeth piercing the soil. 1890s, 1900s, 1920s, 1930s. The older the better. No one left to grieve as I clean the moss from the surface.
No tearful shouts as I sit at their children’s graves and do my gentle crayon rubbings.
I couldn’t bear to look at the shiny newer ones littered with toys. A headstone with the Millennium Falcon and a Yoda quote.
Only the weathered stones with impersonal lambs. The ones where clusters of wildflowers are their only mourners.
The flowers…and me. For Him.
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