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i've never been afraid of ghosts,

though sometimes when i removed the black-framed panes of glass from my eyes, i saw them. spots of light pulsated softly as my eyes struggled to focus against the blackness of the sky with smeared stars and harsh streetlamps marking the edges of concrete. i was afraid to blink and my seven-year-old mind was convinced that behind my eyelids i would take with me these demons.

i say there is no wrong in choosing to blind yourself to this world and open to one without lines and i am on a straight shot to joining the latter. i am the kind of person that clings to make-believe, not glasses and handlebars – i get caught in the beauty, and for a moment i forget that bright red means "stop, you're going to die." reality fizzles out like static and i'm left to see the ghosts that so entice me to leave what i know.

we leave our bodies far too soon to become part of the smudges that hide in flickering neon signs so i close my eyes as often as i can because i hear living in the night sky is almost like being a star. they say death brings sadness and unrest but i know that i've been taunted by twinkling lights for far too long, before conscience and self-worth were a factor.

my heartbeat-echoes and i are going to find our way up onto a rooftop one day when i've decided that i wasted too much time on trivial things and not enough on what matters. i'm going to fly to the ground, without the help of poisons or old age or accidents. i'm seven years old in my eyes, and i believe in snow angels but i can't believe in hope. when i go it'll be without saying goodbye and from whichever height i choose and maybe after i leave i can hide behind a firefly while my body rots underground.

then i can be at peace.