Ghosts

I don’t believe in ghosts

Much less in ectoplasms

But for sure they exist, yes, they do

Even invisible, they are terrible

Fearful.

While I sleep I have vivid dreams

Spasms and livid terrors.

They arrest me in cold torpors

They scare and haunt me

I want to scream and get me free

Useless effort

I got the voice trapped,

I weight a ton

In the morning, more relieved

I calm down, the sun shines imposing

I swallow my hot coffee

And I can hear my husband singing.

It seems that the world has returned to normal

Sweet mistake

The ghosts are just sleeping in their caves

At night they will come back

With their infernal load.

This story was published in The Cotton Thread — weaving life with words. If you want to be a writer in our publication, click here.