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Sometimes people just don’t understand what it’s like
To be haunted by death
To be haunted by life

To people without this unfathomable gift
It can’t be turned off like any button or switch
It follows you everywhere, wherever you go
It’s like a misunderstood web fan or lousy night stalker
You can hear it and see it
Sometimes taste it and smell it.
However the fear originates in the touching
It can take over your head and not ever once mind.
Do you know what it’s like to talk to the dead alive?
To know things without lecture?
To smell an idea or thought?
To hear silent treatment?
To see the kettle say “You’re black,” to the pot?
These are my everyday pleasures
But they are nothing I want
I crave to unknow the truth
Wishing for screaming of silence
Desperate for a blank canvas to watch as the beautiful sun rises
When you have it, you hate it
If inexperienced, you’re jealous
Sometimes things to be studied are better off when unguided.

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Filed under 2012, canada, death, journal, life, paranormal, personal, poems, POEMS & SHORT STORIES, poetry, writing

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