A Ghost Story

Haunting voices in my head.
My little black sheep family.
Sometimes a whisper.
Sometimes a scream
Of family reunions.
I can’t hear myself think.

Not to mention eidetic visions.
Geist keep tearing down the walls.
Sometimes not here.
Sometimes too near
In memories distinct.
I can’t distinguish what’s real.

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Filed under poem, poetry, schizophrenia, writing

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