An Unnerving Grasp On My Shoulder

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An Unnerving Grasp On My Shoulder

I had a meeting with a ghost.

It spoke in twisted tongues,

A creature that knew no trust.

It’s eyes followed me, yet yielded contact.

I couldn’t feel any warmth,

Nothing to hold me, to keep me safe.

Tone coarse, a dead, silent winter.

I reach my hand out, sweeping through cold mist.

There is a presence, to which I am blind.

 

The ghost embraces.

 

Nostalgic shivers race deep within roots.

A twist in my abdomen, I shake him off my mind.

He is not here anymore.

Madison Wakefield

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