I saw myself in you.
at least I used to.
thin and fragile and smudged
with fingerprints blotting your imperfections
while blurring my reflection;
fingerprints from being handled with care.
in my own clumsy hands
we had never looked so good.

but I dropped you.
you shattered at my feet.
shards of you made hundreds of me
shooting hundreds of glances,
smaller,
still smudged,
embarrassed.
I deserve 7 years of a luck not to speak of.
you deserve to be whole.

and when the smudges are new
from new hands piecing you together
and your broken bits reflect
two hundred new eyes looking back blurred
well,
I hope he cuts himself

ghosts aren’t real, you know?
goblins and ghouls and trolls and the boogeyman?
all lies.
a preposterous faith.
though deep down I hoped to be haunted.
ignoring reality, clutching mustard seeds
praying to see a spirit
waiting in shadows; watching in forums,
reading stories; hearing tunes,
and fearlessly fantasizing until
reality became my nightmare
and sleep became my enemy.  
I prowled by moonlight searching for the root of fear
prepared, of course, to fend for myself
a quest for a haunting; a trivial pursuit
was truthfully a journey leading me to
a mirror reflecting pure evil
I am the monster; you are the ghost
that my talons could not hold
I watched you disappear into the walls
of this haunted house
crumbling down around me