Can we love like skeletons do? Intertwined within the grave, No nerves, no flesh, no skin, Just us at our very cores? Can we love like ghosts do? Waltzing in mid-November, Quiet as the dead leaves falling free, Gentle as grass and dew? Can we love like zombies do? Roaming in the vast wilderness, Nowhere particular planned ahead, Yet walking together on the stony path? Can we love like the dead do? Soft passion bound in softer darkness, Silence birthing new life, Bound i

Ghosts are not creatures in white sheets. They are horrors. Rotting bodies, festering flesh, bug-eaten bone. Things that stalk and wail no matter light or night. Things that scream and entrap and whisper and growl into unsuspecting ears. Freaks, I tell you. And now you wonder why I know them so well. Quite honestly, I wish I didn’t. But I had the misfortune of being nearly forced into one. Metaphysical. Neither spirit nor flesh, yet both at once. They’ve no need