They are sores crowned upon my skin
oozing smudgy memories
of a scorched childhood
nestled in restless dysfunction
like webworms on an oaken tree.
They are suspender straps
being pulled back by a nagging omen
pop-popping on my chest
again and again and again;
these bizarre ghosts catching me off-balance
a crystal-shattering whistle in the quietest hour
that seeps beneath my patience
because I know without a doubt
nothing can be done
to rid me of these ghosts.
Prompt inspiration: The Sunday Whirl (seeps, shadowy, scorched, smudgy, nestled, bizarre, ghosts, know, whistle, restless, balance, sores, straps)