I let old ghosts come back to haunt me
to keep my world from feeling empty.
They tear at the scars of old wounds that just won’t heal,
yet somehow the ceaseless noise and presence
is more comfortable than the lonliness
and isolation their screams and tendrils drive away.
So let their spectral fingers tighten around the memories
and pull them out to freshen up
and set back at my feet to trip and torture yet again.
Because better are the familiar failures
than to go and find new ones to fall into my lap