Proof of Ghosts

Black and blank

Void sometimes

In the last row

Of the file cabinet

Of your mind.

Pictures of your ghosts

Proud snapshots of

Cruel faces

Sneering at you.

The ghosts are your proof

That the bad things

Actually happened.

You shred them

But they appear again

Sneering more

Cruelly than ever.

They pop up

In your story

Haunting things

And relationships.

You have to talk to them

You have to figure out

How to put them to rest

Before they become too restless

And take over your mind.



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