Gray Matter

A

Foot

Fall

Stepquicklyand

Disappear.

Sleepy silhouette slumped

In the corner,

Gone in a glimpse.

Footsteps

Echo,

Gleaming off the corridor

Heart racing with the clock

Tick.Tick.Tick.

The snare behind our eardrum.

Snow

Falls

Cold,

Pure,

Safe.

Still, we do not escape

The Phantom Path.

How have we been seeing

Out the corner of our eye,

From the center of our mind?

The Other World cloaks us,

Draws us close to touch

Until we too create Ghosts.