You walk through stone and soil
and see my crooked tomb,
and stare into your camera,
hoping that you see my fumes.
.
You desire my catacomb
and my name,
you desire my spirit game
and essence once blamed.
.
The mist curls like fingers
and your breath rises,
you stop and stare,
thinking that my spirit will spare
your pilgrim skeleton that marches here.
.
The empire I created
still exists
and many influencers mimic it.
They wanna come to my town
and stare down the wells
that hold the screams of little girls;
taken and tied to the stake,
and burned and screamed during the blaze.
.
These viewers love my story
and trespass along my property;
Here, you stop,
And commenters say drop.
"She's real,
Don't go alone
Because her ghost is there,
Her mother's spirit laments the heir."
.
I will watch and wait
Every moon, sun, and star gaze
My hands will remember your shaking fear
As you along my cobblestone street
And see my Keep
That hides amongst conservative freaks.
.
I smile and wait
As these YouTubers graze
Because I am the one who sees them,
And they spend the night guessing
Whether I am resting
.
Pilgrims, wander like cows
because I am the powerful,
and you dare disrespect my sacred land,
you'll be pulled down by my hands.