I stare straight ahead
At the Ghost
Who will not speak
I have no words
So I stare too.
What a strange ghost
Queer motions
He mimics
No flesh on him
But bones in ghouly shades
Oblivious to my motions
But see I all of his
Seeing not a feature
But he shares a face
A little vague to me
But clear to him
He points a finger
Upon my figure
And whispers softly
"To who is my mentor,
Who teaches me
These deadly ways,
Who grows me in his shadows"
I soon find myself growing brittle
Crumbling, piece by piece
He grows form in shades of grey
I see his face all to clearly
He is me
My anger destroys my soul
And feeds my ghostly wrath
Until I fade into his suppression
