a vapour in my brain
I created you
and gave you a name.
You're not real, damn it,
despite what I think
when I dream at night
or have a drink.
You are there
To creak the stair
to move the curtains
with a gust of air.
You conjure memories
that frighten me
and then retreat
to the safety of dreams.
I hate you--you're dead,
but you don't care
you refuse you leave
and only stare.
Like Hamlet's Ghost
Back from the grave
have you come to change
mistakes you've made?
Perhaps the times
are out of tune
for you to catch
fresh glimpses of the Moon.
I pray each night
you'll go away,
but my real desire
is that you'll stay.
Yes, I complain
I'm afraid,
and yet I pray
stay, illusion, stay.