Ghosts come out like every night is Halloween. The thought of living alone with all the lights off, cowering in the corner because of an old childhood fear. In the corner, knees to chest, head to thighs, arms wrapped around those shaky knees – crying. They say time machines aren’t real, but in that moment I am a child again and I can’t grow up; I have been immortalized, terrified, afraid of the dark. I cannot see the lamp in my heart that could light the way. I have never been lost at sea. Paranormal projections seize my heart and paralyze all sense of logic. Opening my eyes with nothing but a veil of blank darkness enveloping my senses, accompanied by deafening silence. It makes my ears ring. I suddenly become more aware and taste my dry mouth, as I hear something in the next room. The TV’s off. Places get haunted by voices sometimes – a structural muscle memory. It interrupts the sonic pause. Soon morning will come, but it can’t come soon enough. Pitch black reality, pouring paint onto my eyes. My seat on the hardwood floor has gone numb and my feet start to fall asleep from holding in this rigid position. Pins and needles, I curse at myself for letting this happen. Could it be that there are no ghosts here? It is only the skeletons in my closet, rattling around to make noise when the world goes quiet and dark? I watch my breath leave my body, exhaling the frigid air from my lungs that will either kill me or keep me awake. I smell the frost creeping in now, from the unknown world outside. Count to twelve. Strike a match to light a candle. It is weak, but it could be enough. This empty house has no story but its chill. No memories in its walls as I hold my hand up. Am I a ghost, haunting this place? There is a radio station –

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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