Ghost, Come Back!

Just a figment, 

Of a ghost, 

The remnants of a presence, 

Slick up and down the wall, 

The room made into a swamp, 

Of sludge and ectoplasm.

It makes the air clammy and uncomfortable, 

And I begin to speak for the ghost, 

Opening up about myself.

In empty thoughts, 

I emphasize an empty day.

When I am bereft of inspiration, 

I know it, 

So why do I keep on, 

Speaking, 

Shouting, 

When its better to just Shut up?

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