In the absence of attention
Even from my parents...

In the absence of validation
Even from my friends...

In the absence of appreciation
Even from my colleagues...

This zombie I've become—
The Ghost of Creativity...

A rupture in silence, stolen peace
Uninviting brightness signalling my release
Unshackled, torn from where I lay
Involuntarily I enter the fray

I present thou my mere body and soul
Unbeknownst this presence shall take its toll
Overwhelmingly consumed, sworn to cherish
Inevitably destined to once again perish

Carve the canvas, paint the way
Defiant to thy bidding, led astray
Cast adrift where echoes wane
Cursed to orbit fear and pain

Wounded and struggling to retrace
Attempts to rekindle, efforts to replace
Futility lies beneath the dark glare of despair
One shall not walk this dreadful path, I swear

The forsaken now seek to guide
Where many had fallen and tried
The adept stand as stronghold where one should falter
A last and valiant attempt for fate to alter

Inexorable strife lurking from the uncharted rift
Once more, my soul I lay as gift
In brittle armor I stand before thee, ghost
And plead to take me off this tarnished coast

Sink where time no longer weighs
Fade into the quiet haze
As the echoes draw a conclusion to the trail of shattered stone
In the moment of reckoning all will be reduced to dust and bone

Now the echoes draw their final breath
All is dust, yet what defines death?

In the heart of the graveyard, where darkness lingers,
Trees bend and sway their dancing skeletal fingers,
Whispers of ghosts fill the midnight air,
A chilling ghostly melody, a silent prayer.

Demons lurking, their eyes aglow,
Dancing in circles where cold winds blow.
Torches on the mausoleum flame and shadows dance,
As spirits awaken from the grave with the night's advance.

The smoke rises higher, a sparkling fire,
A haunting tune from a spectral choir.
Close your eyes, stay quiet and still,
The spirits are playing, having a thrill.

In the depths of the graveyard shade,
Ghosts sing softly, a haunting serenade.
Goblins and ghouls in a flickering light,
Dancing around fires in the dark of night.

On a mid autumn's eve, when the veil is thin,
The spirits emerge and nightmares begin.
Vampires hide in the misty haze,
Their laughter echoes through a foggy maze.

The wind plays games on the fearful kind,
Graves cast eerie shadows rising behind,
Branches reaching fingers, leaves like skin,
In the heart of the graveyard where terror begins.

Firelight dances as witches take flight,
Beckoning spirits through the stillness of night.
Flames grow higher, shadows stretch long,
A chorus of spells in a caster's song.

Flee far away and don't you look back!
For the horrors are near, red eyes turned black,
Take cover in the shadows of the fallen trees,
Feel their breath on this all hallows eve!

Midnight gloom fades, the spirits retreat,
But the forest remembers their haunting beat.
When October returns and moonlight gleams,
The witches will laugh and ghosts will scream.

Shadows loom where the whispers creep,
Time’s a notion, it's now lost in sleep,
A thirteenth ticking echoes in my mind,
The world keeps turning, but I’m lost behind.

Eternal laughter echoes of a forgotten power,
Darkness descends as the clock strikes the hour,
Countdown second's clicks, in a sinister flair,
Reality’s torn thread, frayed beyond repair.

Thirteenth hour, where real and nightmares blend,
Rapid breath frozen still, as the chimes transcend,
Down in purgatory descends screaming through out
In the echoing chamber, let the horrific truth mount.

Ethereal ones drift and the lost souls roam,
A haunted beat, chorus of the unknown,
The clock strikes dark, beats pulse in fright,
In the twilight zone, comes forth the night.

Hands of fate proceed, as time's face weep,
Feel the tick pulse, the dark runs too deep,
Silhouettes flicker in the midnight's light,
Lost in the rhythm, we dance into the night.

Believing a power of after hours pass by,
Ghosts of the spirit realm give a forgotten cry,
The clock strikes again, hear the thirteenth toll,
In the grip of fear, time will reclaim our soul.

The clock may stop, but we never fade,
In the thirteenth hour, is the grave we made,
Shadows lurking tall, shrinking daylight subside.
In the echoes of time's past, we shall now abide.

It's bizarre to be alive and know
that in someone's home, you're a ghost.
The question remains:
How are you remembered?
Does a smile accompany your name?