There is a ghost in my house.
He pads around around quietly in rooms I walk,
Silently forcing the hairs on my arm to scream
I see his reflection staring mute out
To the world and in to me by windows.
His pale skin drained of the color of life,
His slumping form slides across glancing mirrors
And neither notices the other.
His words are hollow and fall on to the floor
To melt in to the ground.
I find him staring at me and I at him.
The whispers and discussions come soundless.
The shared knowledge merging.
There is a ghost in my house, but...
Who frightens whom more?