Its My Life

He spends saturday nights
on his own.
the curtains are drawn
no one else is home.
the darkness comes
as it does every night
through holes in the walls and floors
snuffing out the light.

you look at him and marvel
he doesn't understand why.
he looks into a mirror
sees the horror and looks away

what did I tell you about before?
the tired runs and rounds
the ghosts circling
over head and voices
that talk talk talk talk....

if there's a sound in this house
that isn't a creak,
or air leaking through hole
like a sieve
then you haven't seen th spirits
the candles that al;ight themselves
the hands that knock on every door
only alone in room
do they enter and laugh
and then its time to talk.
talk talk talk talk
the voices and choices
evaporate in the twilight
its the middle of my life
crisis by any other name.
try to shed the crushing shame
of not being good enough
to play some stupid game.