Words and feature image by Lauren Rawlings
some nights make a haunted house out of a home,
as midnight sleep silence leaves the awake on their own.
a phantom hand on my shoulder, a chill in my room,
or the faint scent of an oddly familiar perfume.
but dark thoughts creep into a poisoned night head
until it’s my mind that’s begun to be haunted instead
with thoughts lingering after merely a momentary
recall, of things that loom larger than the ghost in the hall.
yet soon sleep will envelope the woefully weary, and
take with it all thoughts of the ghostly and eerie, so
when dawn extends a hand to paint light upon
my cheek, the ghosts are scared away while I lie still sound asleep.