343. Ghosts Are Some of My Best Friends

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

Though I’m not sure they want to be;

I certainly don’t care for their games,

Or their endless mockery.

They follow whispering in my ears:

“Restore my sanity!”

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

They’re the best at hide and seek.

No matter where I run and hide,

They always manage to silently sneak,

And scare me half to death…

Yep, winning’s always bleak.

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

Though I really wish they’d leave.

I listen to their moans and cries,

Hoping they will grant reprieve,

And scurry off to heaven or such…

Yet nope, they never really leave.

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

They make me want to die.

Would they disappear if I drown myself,

Or is that just a lie?

Are the ghosts still part of me,

Or will they never die?

Ghosts are some of my best friends,

Though I don’t want them to be.

I worry they have found new life,

In the echoes of eternity,

And fear at death they’ll hold me, screaming:

“Where’s our sanity!!”

K. Aldaya, 4/4/16

Picture: Originally posted on Tumblr; http://weheartit.com/entry/group/11322498#

315. The Bed

The bed is made of lies and fire,

Though it does not burn to ash,

And upon it lies lustful desire,

And lost souls under lash.

Bodies burn engulfed in flame,

Forever stoking the blaze.

The babies, crawling, are the blame;

Igniting with their gaze.

The fire sparks from inside,

Childhood’s glowing domicile,

Of doors which lead to hell and abide,

In the darkness of denial.

The flames cannot be quenched with tears.

The fire once set, burns on.

For those in hell are the mutineers,

Who refuse to lie –and yawn,

And sleep in ignorance.

K. Aldaya, 8/3/15

Gif: “Fire” by Freaky–Like–Vivi on Deviant Art; http://freaky–like–vivi.deviantart.com; http://freaky–like–vivi.deviantart.com/art/Fire-350936436

304. Lunatic Hours

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Listen up and listen quick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

He’s a raving lunatic.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Life’s a crazy horror-flick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Lock the door with a *click*.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Choices: Which will you pick?

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Every choice will make you sick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Skin is thin and blood is thick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

You want to know his little trick?

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Slit your wrists and make it quick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Death, it hates a lunatic.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Lunatics are pretty slick.

Tic. Tic. Tic.

Death can’t kill a lunatic.

Tic. Tic.

‘Cause they’re already dead…

Tic.

K. Aldaya, 5/9/15

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://www.wallpaperseries.com/girls/red-clock-eyes-wallpaper.html

302. Gothic

The beauty of the universe,

Is truly a sight to behold.

There is joy to be found in many places,

And if I could be so bold…

I’d say: Beauty has many faces.

Even in the darkest of nights,

When shadows traverse the planet,

The universe is seen more dazzling and pure;

And all the stars which span it,

Only the darkness can confer.

True beauty is not found skin-deep.

Things which on the surface may seem,

Dark and depressing or freakish and bizarre,

May be just the things which beam,

And bare the most enchanting star.

You shouldn’t reject out of hand,

The beauty which lies in the dark.

You may find you’ve missed, what in life, is most grand:

Something which shines in the dark!

You may miss a new stars’ first spark.

K. Aldaya, 4/26/15

Picture: Interpretation of Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night by Alex Ruiz; http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/starry-night-alex-ruiz.jpg

301. Haunted

I know you will not understand,

When I say he wants me dead.

You will never understand what it’s like,

For another to live in your head.

To cut into your flesh so deep,

They bleed into your blood;

So violently invade your skin,

That they form a crimson flood,

And break down all the barricades,

Built to protect the spirit.

And barge inside so loudly,

That it frightens all who hear it.

All the parts of you, they hide,

In other rooms and floors;

They hide for fear of being found:

Cowering behind locked doors.

For the intruder walks up and down,

The corridors and stairs,

With his knife scrapping the walls, he walks,

And through each keyhole glares.

If anyone gets out of place,

And tries to run or sneak.

He’ll hear, find, and punish them,

At the softest of a creak.

Some parts of you will try to fight,

Yet it always ends the same.

A blood-bath; as a mortal can’t win,

An immortal at his game.

I know you do not understand,

When I say he wants me dead.

That he hunts the halls and that he guards,

The prison in my head.

No one can escape or leave.

No one’s allowed freedom.

Some live in fear, or plan escape,

Yet most are simply numb.

Please try to understand me,

When I say I cannot tell you.

To open up those locked doors,

Is something I can’t do.

To open them I risk my life,

And all the parts of me.

He’d kill body or mind to hide,

His crimes against sanity.

Hush now. Hush and be still,

And believe what you will.

For I know, yet cannot fully say,

Why my mind is haunted still.

K. Aldaya, 4/23/15

Picture: The Haunted Mansion Corridor at Disneyland; http://www.haunt1000.com/publishImages/MyHauntedMansion~~element27.jpg