My head is a haunted house,
filled with windy ghosts,
and skeletons that battle,
that will rattle,
in the closets,
like the chill upon my spine.
The basement filled with vampiric comments,
******* self-esteem,
as though they were starved of it.
A tower stands where I have crafted a monster,
from the old corpses of guilty thoughts.
The streaked mirrors on the walls reflect twisted visions,
folding my reflection heavy-handedly,
as if they were packing them in a hurry to leave.
Hell,
if I could run, I would too.

It's terrifying in here.