My Ghosts

My Ghosts
by Theodora Goss

Some days, I think I’ll die of loneliness
here in this room. And then the ghosts appear,
Depression hiding in her long black hair,
Anxiety, a puppet on a string
pulled by a force he cannot understand,
Insomnia, so pale and tired-eyed.
I say, “Come in, my ghosts. I was alone
but now have company.” And down we sit,
Anxiety perched on the ottoman,
chewing his fingernails, Depression flung
over the sofa cushions, her black hair
piling upon the carpet, and her twin
Insomnia curled into my best chair.
Can I be lonely when they come, my ghosts?

Image by Wladyslaw Theodor Benda 3

(The image is by Wladyslaw Theodor Benda.)

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s