I’m getting fed up with the ghosts

They are making me sick

All they ever do is pick


Like burning coals

They torture and sear

It is them that i fear.

They know my desires

Those that light all my fires.

They are coming through the windows,

The doors and even

 Up through the old wooden floors.

I hide under cover,

But they soon discover,

The weak little man

Because that’s who I am.

Frightened of this

Frightened of that

Frightened of next door’s scruffy white cat.

And they let me know,

They scoff and they crow.

I’m running away,

Maybe today,

Or maybe next week

But I know they will seek

 Me out.

Rant and shout.

They drive me to tears

They have done for years.

But there is something I see

I just wonder if all those ghosts

Are really just me.


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