I’m the cold air sneaking in through the cracks
That constant itch in the small of your back
The shadow creeping around the corner
I’m a ghost in this house, a timid foreigner

I’m the dust that you wipe off of your TV
The flake of ash that lands in your coffee
The paint peeling off the rickety walls
I’m that last step you take before you fall

I’m the frostbite nibbling at your ears and nose
The thorn they never clipped off the rose
The aisle in the bookstore labeled fictional
I’m… as long as I am here, I remain invisible