Hardwood floors in the hallway
with stories inside them. 
I find faces in fractures,
grab my pen just to trace them. 
Give them names, and a life, 
and a reason they stayed  
 in this house, in my home;  
now I'm not so alone. 

Funny how what's haunted 
are the things that go unwanted. 
I wonder if I'll ever meet 
the ghosts that live in me. 

Creaking chairs in the attic. 
The TV plays static. 
Was it something traumatic? 
Are the visions sporadic? 

The kitchen is lonely; 
I'll dance to make it homely. 
If you listen in closely 
you'll hear something holy. 

Funny how what's haunted 
are the things that go unwanted. 
I wonder if I'll ever meet 
the ghosts that live in me. 
If the windows are boarded, 
is the darkness applauded? 
I wonder if I'll ever greet 
the light I lost in me. 

My bedroom ceiling - 
before I dream of healing - 
shows me echoes 
of something called 
hope. 
The walls are speaking; 
the window's leaking; 
head on my pillow; 
in the darkness -
hope. 

Funny how what's haunted 
are the things that go unwanted. 
I wonder if I'll ever meet 
the ghosts that live in me.  

'Haunted House' - 28/12/22
Wrote this in like, 15 minutes, and very fond of it.