The instant I hit the pillow,
When I've done all I can do for that day,
Is when it haunts me the most.
I can ignore it during waking hours,
and then for some reason
the dark brings it to light.
I keep trying to convince myself I can do this,
but it's beyond me.
I can't fight off a ghost and I've tried.
I've tried to rid myself entirely of
these phantoms
that I also secretly long for.
An embodiment of intangible touches
tend to linger lightly.
It's hard to see details within the shades
of the shadows.
I couldn't show you.
Nor could I speak of it.
I am to suffer with ghouls and goblins
and I shall do it alone.
Shrouded in mist
mysteriously.
I don't just hide skeletons in my closet.
I hide decay.
I hide desperation.
I hide faces.
Facts.
Fact is I lie,
I yearn for,
I remember,
over and over and over and over and over
I remember.
Repeatedly replaying real life events.
This time around I can pause,
play,
rewind.
s.l.o.w. m.o.t.i.o.n.
still frame.
You've become nothing but
a specter to me now.
Looming just barely above my senses.
You no longer possess form,
so all you can do
is pass through.
I can't even touch you.
It gives me chills.