I never much liked my memory
It's far too good.
Subtle quips and quick snapbacks
I remember them all.
I can never forget them, I can never remember them right, but the ghosts fly
So when people ask me,
"How are you haunted? Where do the ghosts live?"
I point to my mind
And they think the ghosts fly around the skull
When in reality?
They linger inside the dark, where no one can see.
Until the memories are enshrouded in a haze of mistrust.
Because the funny thing about ghosts?
They don't exactly tell what they think.
They just haunt.