A ghost sits on my trophy shelves,
in photographs, in wishing wells
and reminds me of all the Hells
that I have once lived through.
Another sits in my old friends.
Inside the halls, we play pretend
that there was not a horrid end
where we said we were through.
A million ghosts all haunting me
like all the girls I used to be,
and they sing so poetically
about times tried and true.
But I will take them as they pass
and know these hauntings never last,
but even so, I always ask
that none of them be you.