To the ghost in my bedroom who keeps me up at night

August 13, 2013

tap tap tap goes the dancing ghost late at night
in my bedroom when I should be sleeping and
instead I am wondering if this ghost is just in my
head or if it is real? And then, what makes a ghost
real anyway? If only the five senses can grasp an idea
of a reality beyond its own realm of value but I cannot
grasp that idea and it is no fault of mine but of the skin
that I call mine. tap tap tap. Every creek only happens
when the light is off, or when the light is on the noise is
smaller. If I can define the word I think I might consider it
a part of me and then the ghost is real or at least as real
as me and I am the only one in this room and yet the creeks,
the eeeeks, only come louder and more often when I start
to fall asleep or when my door is closed tight. If by chance it
is not me it must want to feel my skin. If by truth it is me, well
then I do not know myself well at all, do not listen to my own
wishes, do not humor myself with bed time stories though I
do enjoy them so and would love a good read. Tap tap tap. She
is a ballerina and she has grey mushrooms growing from the
roots of her toes and she looks at me with fire growing in
hollowed eyes but I cannot see her. She taps inside of me so that
only I can hear it. Tap tap tap.

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