Boggart

Old Stinging Words.
Their graves are never deep enough.
Their spidery claws would dig their way out.
Pushing away soil of fake indifference.

Old Stinging Words.
They are never drowned.
Their slimy white bodies would resurface.
Through muddy waters of wizen memories.

Old Stinging Words.
Hidden in the closets.
Like a sinful secret.
They'd knock from inside when everything is quiet.

Hold your tongue.
If you ever wish to sting.
For Old Stinging Words form the cruelest of ghosts, sitting up on your neck, whispering count of your sins in your ears.