Inside the Mind of a Ghost
doors tilt to spin walls
and the no-way-out victim-
hood shifts its denials to no way
to get clean, not in this uninten-
tional roulette which runs
faster around more corners in
panic to achieve less, yes,
i am the spin, the pill, the drug
which curves in halls that hunt
and yet still falter hungry to become
tricks, mirrors, yes,
it is i who must press my skele-
ton to my beating bosom,
and yet not feel the ribs,
none of the marrow's screams,
no chance, zero pitfalls then ,
to spin the silver into the lurking
cellar of risk.
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