Ghosts
They come as voices
Voices are made of feelings
Screams that were never heard
Only I can hear them
Ghosts
They come as people
People like us
I can’t touch them
They can touch me
Ghosts
They come in cameras
Capture me by the lens
They cannot be captured by others
Only captured by me
Ghosts
They come as characters in a story book
Suck me in a place by their pages
Not read by others
Only read by me
Ghosts
They come as bullies in a playground
Beating me up with weapons
Not felt by others
Only felt by my own pain
Ghosts
They come in as colours
On a plain dull canvas
They are not seen by others
Only seen by me
Ghosts
They come as white sheets
Not seen by others
Only seen by my own nightmares
Phil the Writer's Block 