🕯️ Poem: "Spines and Spools"
Upon a shelf of ancient tomes,
Where whispers cling to leathered homes,
I lounge between a Necronomicon
And Yoga for Demonic Possession, Vol. 1.
A static hiss, the screen goes dim—
A VHS with tape worn thin.
The sigils flicker, reels unwind,
And something skitters through my mind.
The books, they tremble on their perch—
One glows, another starts to lurch.
I press rewind, then play again,
While Latin chants drift through the den.
So if you hear your Betamax cry,
Or spot red eyes when spirits fly—
Don’t blame the tape, or shelf, or spell...
Some movies just play you as well.
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