Ghost

 I see old ghosts at the bottom of the bed

Trying to melt your head. 

They dance and shake the bed. 

And disagree. 

Make you think of things 

You should let be. 

Try to keep you awake, 

Won't let you sleep. 

You feel their boney fingers 

As they talk aloud. 

Trying to drown you in doubt. 

Whispering secrets, 

You can't quite hear. 

And wanting you to hold on

To things that you used to

Cut yourself with.

Things that hold you back. 

Those old ghosts 

Are the worse craic.