Not all haunted places are houses;
People can be haunted too
Or perhaps people can be vessels
In which stubborn ghosts glide through.
It’s dirty, cracking and crumbling;
The wallpaper of my soul,
Frightening phantoms dance down my halls,
The lamps light as dark as coal.
Dead flowers in my window boxes,
Dark, dried blood drops cover my bedroom,
The quiet pitapat of the rain
Plangent in the empty tomb.
Fear consumes every waking thought,
Shadows creep across the floor.
The past picks the locks on my entrance
I can’t hide him anymore.
As I sit in this mausoleum,
I see a lantern shining.
In the midst of this awful haunting
Your love is redesigning.
