Maybe you are a ghost,
maybe you are a host;
someone who hates most
me more than I suppose.

Dress your words nice
you do so I am enticed;
words said more twice
now make me sacrifice.

You are a banshee shed
in the night I have bled
after stories I was fed
to fill me full of dread.

I slip and fall a mirage
I have made you my God.
But you’re not it is odd,
it my love may be fraud.

I know life is just outside
and in here I try to hide
aspect that is maligned
your pretty words subside.

I have wanted to leap
from up on the tallest heap
down where people creep
along in their own sleep.

My ghost ashore strand
me upon undying land
and guide me your hand
does give me reprimand.

My vision is deceived
by a banshee and it is she
who brings me to knees
in her undying breeze.  

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