Sometimes, the ghosts you’ve hidden come to haunt you.

Despite your continuous practice of meditation and tuning them out,

they catch up eventually, evolved.

They latch on to you with a death grip, refusing to let go.

And even when you bury them deep,

they have already learned to howl,

and their screams echo – reverberating,

bouncing off walls like a ricocheting bullet.

Their shrieks grow louder, clamoring

as they crawl and writhe

like a group of crazies struggling to free themselves

from the straitjacket that confine their limbs.

Your ghosts have grown forceful,

banging their heads against the door

that separates you and the abyss and

prevents you from losing your grip on your rationality.

You hear them scraping their nails,

leaving bloody trails along the walls

— their chipped nails scatter on the filthy floor.

And along with the thudding on the door,

you hear them twisting the knob one way and then the other

— clicking, clickety-clack.

The banging and the clicking combine into an almost catchy rhythm

with an unforgettable beat.

And you find yourself grooving along – there is no fear,

only a realization that you’ve fallen too far for saving.