The Ghost

A poem about a sort of life-cycle. Ghoslyness included.

You lie there
Sleeping silently
The ghost is creeping
Quietly

It whispers in your ear
To fill you up with fear
You can sense its near,
You let slip a single tear

It walks about at midnight hour
Under the sheets you cry and cower
But it's smarter than that

In no way can you save yourself
this ghost is not a friendly self
It creeps inside, into your mind
It begins to control you, how unkind

You die whist your asleep
No memory can you keep
The pain as you mind is turned to mush
Its now nothing but an icy slush

You fade, you turn to one of them
The ghost in you begins to stem
Now you watch the world go by
Now nobody can hear you cry