I Pity The Ghosts Tonight

The ghosts are flitting
round the room 
and chandeliers,

their bodies are but wisps, 
opaque but for a glow,
rendering them there, but not quite.

They moan and beseech,
wails aching from empty hearts
and gasping from ungovernable lips,

these poor souls, they whine for life
but someone knows they begged
just for a little reprieve.

Their lips are sewn shut with spider silk,
they could break it, but they choose to wordlessly lament so
they live, yes, but only in self pity... 

they long to say so much
yet they have nothing to utter, with trembling lips,
so they reach for me to warm their souls with words.

Oh, but they do not know
(how I pity the ghosts tonight),
my mind, my thoughts,
unraveled long, long ago.