Three rings of a bone punched with knives
Hangs from fang trees,
Replacing the once solid trees.
Each ring echoes through the air;
Each dripping of a substance, unknown;
Turned inside out.
Each one, a white surface.
Veins filled of crimson delight,
Running down slowly, but surely.
Underneath a raining sky,
Sometimes dreams
Turn it into blood.
Each tree, perfectly fine one morning,
Until screams echo through the air,
On the first of the month of Halloween.
Happy Early Halloween! Eerie places exist!