The chalice was broken
on Halloween night
a story, if told,
inspires souls to take flight.
She lies amidst shards
of sunken shattered glass
in a tub, in a bath,
holy water cupped in brass.
The only sound is the glip of a wave
from a hand or a foot or a breast
against the lip of the night, so depraved,
kissing the mistress crying in shame.
A night forgotten in spirits, in sin,
with only its hauntings to whisper her tales
silenced by the droplets of the bloodied mary virgin.