I saw a ghost,
he took my breath away once,
but only that once when he was still the splinter in my thumb,
He was very well read,
this young man,
endowed with intellect,
his mind void of any sense of compassion,
certainly the same could be said for his heart and its way with decency,
or lack thereof,
I felt things he could not,
would not,
ever find the time to immerse himself in,
and that was always where we parted ways,
and where I supposed I was,
in fact,
invisible to him,
I was his apparition,
or so it seemed,
He always came without warning,
just as one would expect these specters to do,
vanishing and reappearing with no notions of consequence,
no comprehension of the casualties of these kinds of wars
In the back of the fog,
he had always been my revolving door,
my Achilles Heel,
the antidote to any kind of freedom,
and the thing of it was,
I thought I wanted sadness,
all along,
that is not what they wanted for me,
but what I had contaminated myself with,
I did not know any better,
or any worse,
for that matter---
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