Ghosts of Things

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For quite some time now
I've locked them away
in little ornate wooden boxes-
spooks and specters
that would haunt and
terrify me, late at night
just as I'm taking
that
final breath before I kiss the night.

Their icy fingers
scouring my skin, probing,
stabbing at my eyes,
tearing at my mouth
till they slip inside
farther and farther
until I gag.

Now these ghosts were lined up
two
by
two,
ready to die in some grand gesture.

However, before they can
have their sweet release
I
vomit them up,
into the little ornate wooden boxes
to stay locked away until
the time comes to drink them
up again and
breathe life into them
once again.

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