People often describe memories that are haunting, and I have plenty of those.
Though the haunting doesn't bother me as far as ghosts.
The feeling of being haunted comes in waves,
though the ghost follows you around.
My past love is a ghost,
fueled by an ever so familiar beating heart.
So familiar for it is myocardium.
When you left, you still had my heart.
These days I run on alcohol, cigarettes, and compliments from lasses I could never love.
Never love until I **** the ghost of my past love.
Though you can't **** a creature spawned from the undead.