I see the Ghost again.
He visits every night.
Keeping to the shadows.
A cold chill menace.
Though he watches me,
his head remains bowed.
The stare is penetrating.
His mind is accusing.
I know he hates me.
I feel the total disgust.
The bile tastes foul,
and the pain is searing.
I know.
Because he is me.
And I am haunting myself.
© Pagan Paul (06/10/16)
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