An old white crumpled sheet
Folded on the attic floor
A lonely soul out on the street
Searching for an unlocked door
Frozen in eternal torment
He wanders in the freezing cold
It is the warmth he must resent
As he grows ever still more bold
He burrows deeper in agony
As his last remaining home
Fighting so hard to be free
He locks his chains with his own key
What could haunt the haunter
What memory deep inside
The weather grows still hotter
Soon he will no longer hide
He gazes at his melting body
In a pool of fractured glass
The ashen skin starts sliding free
The coatings will always pass
What could haunt this apparition
This ghostly figure in the night
His true form all baked by the sun
The blackness there all in plain sight
The thing that haunts a ghost
Is not pain’s incessant hum
The horror that haunts a ghost
Is what he has become
An old white crumpled sheet
Folded on the attic floor
A lonely soul out on the street
Searching for an unlocked door
