I lived my life, most often, like a ghost,
ethereal, drifting from room to room,
a chill chasing me from pillar to post.
Rippling across the senses of those whom,
in solitude, sought meaning in their life
before they passed beyond it to the tomb.
I was not noticed by them, or my wife
who gladly let me rest in silent shade
whilst stabbing at me with a nagging knife.
Then, resting in the bed that we had made
she didn’t notice that, tonight, I died -
my spirit passing to the night brigade.
Her tears were dust, those moments that she cried.
I saw all this from high above the scene
as doors to purgatory opened wide.
I could have grieved for all that I had been,
but something in me wanted to be free,
something dark within wanted to be seen.
So I ignored the light that shone on me,
turning away from heaven’s golden gate.
I threw away salvations twisted key.
I chose to take an otherworldly fate,
to challenge death and break his rigid laws.
Look for me when the hour is getting late.
At last you notice when I open doors,
you look around, your eyes awash with fear,
jump at the sound of distant creaking floors.
Your senses tingle, knowing I am near,
Aware, though dead and gone, that I still care.
I whisper it so softly in your ear.
I run my fingers gently through your hair.
Closer than close. A permanent nightmare.