My Ghosts

         My ghosts…



         These spirits haunt me, wherever I may go. I see them from the corner of my eye, as I go about my day-to-day life. Chills are sent up my spine whenever I feel their long, thin fingers upon me. They visit me often, each and every one of them.



         There’s the ghost of temptation, with his empty promises and lies. A fine man indeed, he approaches me often. Always, he comes, draped in luxurious black silk, and wearing the night sky on his sleeve. He caresses me with his warm, transparent fingers, and lays sweet kisses upon my naïve soul. Everything he does is an attempt to lure me into his lush bed of silk, though I know it’s truly one of nails. However, this knowledge seems to evaporate whenever the seductive spirit passes through me. Everything seems sweeter, and life takes on a surreal quality. Consequences are virtually nonexistent, and my pleasure is the only thing that matters. A partner in crime is brought along for the ride, and selfishness rips through me, a tagalong spirit who aids the enticing phantom. Nothing but disaster can result from his visits, but I allow him to manifest regardless. It’s not easy to refuse him, for he is one of the strongest of my ghosts.



         Temptation has a sister, and her name is Love. She differs in approach from her lurid brother, but the twin siblings work in tandem whenever possible. Being the center of attention is what she enjoys most, and she’ll gladly swoop in to play the drawn-out opening act for her beloved brother. Seemingly innocent, the beauty lies in wait, striking slowly and injecting more of her poison into my blood with each passing day. It’s hard to see past her genius act, and next to impossible to ignore her. She smiles at me with those plump, red lips, blinding me to the fangs beneath. She is a beauty beyond all others. No other spirit smells as sweet as her, and no other kills as slowly or as softly. Constantly, I find myself trusting her. I allow her to touch my heart with her soft hands, believing her incapable of betraying me. Each time, she squeezes the weak, poisoned organ until the pain is unbearable, and finally, it shatters. Her spiritual shell is stunning, but beneath it all, her dead soul is cold and ugly.



         The darkest of them all, the ghost of hatred is one that I frequently find slithering upon my skin. It’s a pitch-black demon, a shapeless shadow that’s slimy to the touch. An overwhelming sensation of disgust fills me whenever its spirit comes into contact with me. Unattractive and unappealing, it does not attempt to win me over as the succulent siblings do. Instead, it latches its pointed fingers into my flesh, tearing its way into my inner being. I feel its scathing breath upon the nape of my neck, the very essence of revulsion. The angry spirit takes its chance, and merges with my soul. What was once white and beautiful is now infected with a plague of darkness. It holds me captive, and all my strength is needed in order to break free of its binding hold. Each of its visits brings a little more sickness into my being.



         Guilt is the ghost who cleans up after all the others. He wears a coat of feathers, which sweeps down to the floor in a grand manner. With each of his menacing strides, the shining feathers glimmer brilliantly. The spirit’s long, thin tongue emerges from his mouth as he gazes upon me, and he licks his thin lips in anticipation. By then, I’ve been left immobile by whatever spirit has just left, and unable to fight off Guilt’s hungry advances. He reaches down with twisted, claw-like fingers, and sinks his nails into my trembling flesh. It’s easy for him to keep a hold that way, as he eats away at whatever’s left of my sanity. Warping my thoughts and distorting reality, the slick specter leaves me convinced that I alone am at fault. My stomach churns, and self-loathing fills me. My ghosts aren’t to be blamed; I am. Suddenly, I’m sure that all these supernatural visits are due to my weak and damaged soul. I look up into the greedy spirit’s beady eyes, and feel unmotivated to fight back. Instead, I simply lay there, grieving for my own flaws until the phantom decides I’ve been picked clean.



         These are my ghosts, and I fight them every day. It’s a difficult struggle, but it’s a necessary one. Material life is balanced out by the spiritual one, and the pleasures of life by the pain of the after. It’s hard for me to think of things this way, however, and dreams of a life without these battles are impossible to ward off.



Maybe someday, I’ll find away to defeat these spirits. Maybe someday, I’ll finally be rid of them.



For now, I’ll keep on fighting.