Fact is, everyone's haunted; not a face
that passes in the street but has its ghosts.
Spirits are not confined by time nor space--
only by us, their living, breathing hosts.
They take up residence behind our eyes,
project themselves on every empty wall.
They love to jump and catch us by surprise
with half-forgotten tragedies recalled.
They nestle in our guilt, feed on our shame,
and hide in phrases better left unsaid;
They chill us with a look, kill with a name,
and leave us shaking, wakeful in our beds--
These spirits who still roam where they should not,
Who don't forgive, and will not be forgot.
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