there are ghosts in the walls
i hear them meeting in the crawl space
skittering around, slipping and sliding and falling from the ceiling down, down, down
the whisper of voices and ringing of sounds in the hallway

they say it’s not a haunted room, the ghosts, i mean;
they do not exist,
it must be common creatures that loom
in my walls, in my halls, in my room,
mice and mold playing tricky mind games behind the scenes,
it must be

i ask them this,
isn't it all the same -
if i can't see it for what it is?