A Regret Of Ghosts

Too much time in my head,
A terrible place for any writer to be,
Doubly so on a night spent alone.
Try as I might to remain in the moment,
My mind wanders.
It’s what I’ve trained it to do.
Stretching out branches into the future and past.
To replay moments I wish I could try a different way.
To look at events that may never come to pass.
To invent conversations between people who may never meet.
To worry on things that may never go wrong.
All these souls, a regret of ghosts surrounding my bed.
Some have gone, some are now, and some will never be.
They chant an algorithmic anti-lullaby.
But should I manage to sneak off to sleep,
Disembodied smiles swipe masks from my bedside,
And chase me into stranger dreams.
Where they dance, and they sing about everything–
Except for what is real.

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