The ghosts, both literal and figurative, surrounded me. They howled in my ears, trying to remind me of every little smudge that I had made on the glass of my life. I was used to this, but I had to wonder when Apollo had gotten around to adding tambourines into this nightmare.
the ghosts of the past come back to haunt. chilling memories of those you loved, then lost.
a shiver travels down your spine, recalling the past- when it was a happier time.
The ghosts whisper to me in the morning and I laugh.
The sound echoes and disturbs the silence of the room.
The others look at me confused because they don’t understand.
I smile at the ghosts knowingly, and they knowingly smile back.
They were sitting side by side, as they always had. Only this time, it felt different. “Are you going somewhere,” he asked finally. “Why do you ask?” she replied. “Well it seems odd, the way we’re sitting here. It’s as we always have, I know. But something feels, well, there’s no other way to put it, it feels wrong.” She looked down at her hands with a sadness he had not seen in years, not since a cold day in November. The day they never talked about, but always remembered. It alarmed him; shook him. Why this look on this day, right now? He waited for an answer, but before he could press the question upon her again, she was on the ground, face down, not moving, not breathing, saying nothing. He was over her, screaming into the day for someone to come. They came. They took her. He followed. But not to where she had gone. Only to the place where they could tell her where she had gone. She was with them. The ghosts they never talked about since that cold day in November. How has she known they were coming?
Ghosts everywhere and my eyes aren’t even open. Ghosts of pasts husbands, ghosts of past lovers, ghosts of past dreams. What do you do when doubts and “what ifs” start staggering through your brain like a drunk on the beach kicking memories around like sand in the wind? I think. I wonder what if i zigged here instead of zagged? What if I feel flat on my face here? What if I didn’t crawl there? Did I give up moving over a large dune? Could I help from getting dizzy in the surf racing across my feet? Could I have prevented the risk of undertow by stumbling only where the safe path appeared in my skewed view?
It doesn’t matter. Though I admit I need the sunshine and a sober yet pounding head to sometimes see that. Passing through the transparent veils of yesterday can offer a chill, but on the other side, there is a good chance you’ll feel warmth again on the other side.
Your ghosts are with me every day. One of them still has blue eyes and launches rockets that hit Mars. The other one hasn’t revealed more than his face and his words to me, shaped like Buddha, once a Latin lover.
Int the mist the ghosts glared at me, like I was the enemy but I was curious what was behind those doors. The house was still like stone but seemed to come alive as I walked in.
Ghosts are super scary I watched this ghost movie I saw them eat but it would just fall right out of them.there was to dads and one kid he was the nicest out of all of them.
When I hear the word ghost I think of the ones in haunted houses some people say that their not real and some say that they are real I don’t know if they are or are not real
I don’t believe in ghosts. Some people do and I don’t judge them, it’s just my opinion. Ghosts are cool because they can go through walls and haunt things but I don’t believe in them at all.
Ghousts scare me.Ghosts are spirits of people or things.If someone dies they turn in o a spirit.Ghousts are also the things that haunt houses.So if I were you don’t go anywhere that is haunted.
ah! Don’t believe in them other than the Holy Ghost. But it sure was fun in elementary and high school years to play in the cemetery and around old houses pretending.
The presence was palpable. Even as the bar got fuller and the noise got louder, it was still obvious that they were silent, staring straight ahead, not doing anything but letting the whiskey burn their throats.
i pity you
and the dead worlds you spiral in,
like a quiet maelstrom.
i have visited that place
once myself.
i died,
like you did.
i wept,
like you did.
_______________________
if only i could lose my flesh
and drift away
on a silver
wind
Geister. Geisterschreiber. Wenn ich ghost lese, denke ich immer zu erst an Ghostwriter. Dabei sind Geister so viel mehr. Ich weiß nicht, ob sie existieren. Mir ist noch kein Geist begegnet. Ich weiß nicht, wie viel es ändern würde, wenn ich eine Geisterbegegnung hätte. Wäre ich dann in der Lage an meiner Wahrnehmung zu zweifeln?
there was ghosts in the shell
ghosts as he walked through the old town
ghosts lingering down every street and path he took and as he walked he silently wondered,
if they would still recognise him,
or if he would still remember them.
that’s how it always felt,
taking a walk in his hometown
“Have always fascinated me. I would love to believe to they don’t exist. But I would be lying to myself if I thought so.”
The ghost catcher had assured her help, not comfort.
Transparent and losing all dimensions. Slight breeze from pages flipping by, little snapshots in time. Every page is met with a roll of my eyes, wondering why I sound so infantile, or so frustrated, or writing about irrelevant details. There are several gaps in my journal where I couldn’t bring pen to paper, and record myself in one light only to look back with distain. When I bring paper to pen,–or my fingers to a keyboard–I worry all the same; the moment I close the book that person dies, life squeezed out between pages, and when I open it again there is just a faint shadow of their original feel, only one aspect visible where once there was so much more. So many angles, so many subtleties. Only their mistakes and weakness still cast their shadow, wringing their fingers unaware of their death. They haunt from the pages, they pull themselves out of the passing hours. Who was I an hour ago? I can’t remember what it felt to be them. They only cling to my ankles now, a cast off shell; only minutes before it was my skin, now I don’t resemble that papery casing. How could they have lived the way they lived, thought the way they thought? Another minute, another ghoul casts out of me. Years go by in pages, hours are spun out of the clock, in each glance another shadow grows. A different person now, why do you make the same mistakes? Real now in this moment, the rest are certainly fake. when I close my eyes I die, I open them reborn—who were you just then, why now act the same as before?
They didn’t want to deal with this. Ghosts, of all things. They didn’t have time to worry about the souls of the deceased, they had other things to worry about. They didn’t need this.
Alan wouldn’t stay at the Grand Pearl Hotel because he was absolutely certain that there were ghosts haunting it. Specifically, he thought they’d haunt any room he frequented.
“They like odd room numbers,” he told me over beer, “and I always get rooms with an odd number. I’m not risking staying in 217 and getting attacked by hungry ghosts.”
I stared. “I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t eat people.”
The ghosts, both literal and figurative, surrounded me. They howled in my ears, trying to remind me of every little smudge that I had made on the glass of my life. I was used to this, but I had to wonder when Apollo had gotten around to adding tambourines into this nightmare.
Ghosts are strangers criatures. They are white and they have superpowers. I have afraid of ghosts, but actually I don`t believe in ghosts.
the ghosts of the past come back to haunt. chilling memories of those you loved, then lost.
a shiver travels down your spine, recalling the past- when it was a happier time.
The ghosts whisper to me in the morning and I laugh.
The sound echoes and disturbs the silence of the room.
The others look at me confused because they don’t understand.
I smile at the ghosts knowingly, and they knowingly smile back.
They were sitting side by side, as they always had. Only this time, it felt different. “Are you going somewhere,” he asked finally. “Why do you ask?” she replied. “Well it seems odd, the way we’re sitting here. It’s as we always have, I know. But something feels, well, there’s no other way to put it, it feels wrong.” She looked down at her hands with a sadness he had not seen in years, not since a cold day in November. The day they never talked about, but always remembered. It alarmed him; shook him. Why this look on this day, right now? He waited for an answer, but before he could press the question upon her again, she was on the ground, face down, not moving, not breathing, saying nothing. He was over her, screaming into the day for someone to come. They came. They took her. He followed. But not to where she had gone. Only to the place where they could tell her where she had gone. She was with them. The ghosts they never talked about since that cold day in November. How has she known they were coming?
My dog can smell ghosts, I think
or she can see them at least
because she barks out the
window late at night
or sits and stares at our walls
ghots
i always scared ghosts. and you?
i like watching film about ghost.
when i was 5 old i looked ghosts. it was my grandfather
I stared at the translucent thing in front of me. It almost looked like a ghost. But ghosts aren’t real, right? Boy, was I wrong.
Ghosts are people that have died and are alive in a different form. Example: The house was haunted with ghosts and nobody wanted to go in.
Ghosts everywhere and my eyes aren’t even open. Ghosts of pasts husbands, ghosts of past lovers, ghosts of past dreams. What do you do when doubts and “what ifs” start staggering through your brain like a drunk on the beach kicking memories around like sand in the wind? I think. I wonder what if i zigged here instead of zagged? What if I feel flat on my face here? What if I didn’t crawl there? Did I give up moving over a large dune? Could I help from getting dizzy in the surf racing across my feet? Could I have prevented the risk of undertow by stumbling only where the safe path appeared in my skewed view?
It doesn’t matter. Though I admit I need the sunshine and a sober yet pounding head to sometimes see that. Passing through the transparent veils of yesterday can offer a chill, but on the other side, there is a good chance you’ll feel warmth again on the other side.
Your ghosts are with me every day. One of them still has blue eyes and launches rockets that hit Mars. The other one hasn’t revealed more than his face and his words to me, shaped like Buddha, once a Latin lover.
Int the mist the ghosts glared at me, like I was the enemy but I was curious what was behind those doors. The house was still like stone but seemed to come alive as I walked in.
Ghost remind me of Halloween because ghosts can be scary.
When I think of a ghost it reminds me of a honted house.
Ghosts are super scary I watched this ghost movie I saw them eat but it would just fall right out of them.there was to dads and one kid he was the nicest out of all of them.
When I think of ghosts I think of a grave yard on Halloween. I don’t really know why. I like this word.
Ohhhhhhhh I’m a ghost I will haunt you ohhhhhhhhhhh I’m a gostbuster ohhhhhhhhhhh yeah gam a stile oh oh I’m a gost buster
Ghost are creepy because if you see something floating in air or maybe disappear then you should be pretty scared.
When I think of a ghost it reminds me of Halloween. If you choose to be one for Halloween then usually you where something that is white over you.
When I think of ghost it makes me think of like the kid of ghost that haunts people.
Ahhhhhh it’s a ghosts lick in ghosts busters I’m not a frad of no ghosts dadadadada I’m not no ghosts.
When I hear the word ghost I think of the ones in haunted houses some people say that their not real and some say that they are real I don’t know if they are or are not real
I don’t believe in ghosts. Some people do and I don’t judge them, it’s just my opinion. Ghosts are cool because they can go through walls and haunt things but I don’t believe in them at all.
Ghousts scare me.Ghosts are spirits of people or things.If someone dies they turn in o a spirit.Ghousts are also the things that haunt houses.So if I were you don’t go anywhere that is haunted.
Ghost are not scary to me.i don’t even believe in them so what’s the point in being scared of theme hey are. Boring because it’s just a there
I do believe in ghosts because when I lived in my one house I was haunted by ghosts. I am not really scared but they do look cool in photos.
Ghost are creepy because when ever you see something floating in mid air or disappear then you should be pretty scared.
Ghosts are things that come from graves from the dead.They have no physical body to pick up objects.
When I think about ghosts it scares me because I think about my grandma
When I think of ghost I think of haunted places but sometimes ghost can apper in random places but I think ghost are in haunted places
ah! Don’t believe in them other than the Holy Ghost. But it sure was fun in elementary and high school years to play in the cemetery and around old houses pretending.
The presence was palpable. Even as the bar got fuller and the noise got louder, it was still obvious that they were silent, staring straight ahead, not doing anything but letting the whiskey burn their throats.
i pity you
and the dead worlds you spiral in,
like a quiet maelstrom.
i have visited that place
once myself.
i died,
like you did.
i wept,
like you did.
_______________________
if only i could lose my flesh
and drift away
on a silver
wind
Geister. Geisterschreiber. Wenn ich ghost lese, denke ich immer zu erst an Ghostwriter. Dabei sind Geister so viel mehr. Ich weiß nicht, ob sie existieren. Mir ist noch kein Geist begegnet. Ich weiß nicht, wie viel es ändern würde, wenn ich eine Geisterbegegnung hätte. Wäre ich dann in der Lage an meiner Wahrnehmung zu zweifeln?
there was ghosts in the shell
ghosts as he walked through the old town
ghosts lingering down every street and path he took and as he walked he silently wondered,
if they would still recognise him,
or if he would still remember them.
that’s how it always felt,
taking a walk in his hometown
ı love ghosts but not so much maybe a little. ı know casper. casper is cute. i am cute. you are cute
“Have always fascinated me. I would love to believe to they don’t exist. But I would be lying to myself if I thought so.”
The ghost catcher had assured her help, not comfort.
Transparent and losing all dimensions. Slight breeze from pages flipping by, little snapshots in time. Every page is met with a roll of my eyes, wondering why I sound so infantile, or so frustrated, or writing about irrelevant details. There are several gaps in my journal where I couldn’t bring pen to paper, and record myself in one light only to look back with distain. When I bring paper to pen,–or my fingers to a keyboard–I worry all the same; the moment I close the book that person dies, life squeezed out between pages, and when I open it again there is just a faint shadow of their original feel, only one aspect visible where once there was so much more. So many angles, so many subtleties. Only their mistakes and weakness still cast their shadow, wringing their fingers unaware of their death. They haunt from the pages, they pull themselves out of the passing hours. Who was I an hour ago? I can’t remember what it felt to be them. They only cling to my ankles now, a cast off shell; only minutes before it was my skin, now I don’t resemble that papery casing. How could they have lived the way they lived, thought the way they thought? Another minute, another ghoul casts out of me. Years go by in pages, hours are spun out of the clock, in each glance another shadow grows. A different person now, why do you make the same mistakes? Real now in this moment, the rest are certainly fake. when I close my eyes I die, I open them reborn—who were you just then, why now act the same as before?
They didn’t want to deal with this. Ghosts, of all things. They didn’t have time to worry about the souls of the deceased, they had other things to worry about. They didn’t need this.
Alan wouldn’t stay at the Grand Pearl Hotel because he was absolutely certain that there were ghosts haunting it. Specifically, he thought they’d haunt any room he frequented.
“They like odd room numbers,” he told me over beer, “and I always get rooms with an odd number. I’m not risking staying in 217 and getting attacked by hungry ghosts.”
I stared. “I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t eat people.”
“Then what do they eat, Lorraine? Tacos?!”