None.

Your ghost haunts me through the halls.
You tug at my pants when I stop to breathe.
Startle me around the corner.
Invade my ears with your silence, and echo through my sinuses.
I open my mouth to forget for a moment, and fail again.
I was ok earlier, but superstition overcomes logic
Limbic overcomes conscious.
My reptilian brain destroys me again.
Like a fog, like a choking mist from an age-old waterfall: it never stops, thunders on from a stream to a river over the edge, and who is to say- who draws the line between the pounding downward force and the fine lifting fairy drops. They are one and the same- carving the rock and filling the air and so they are one. And so they are one.
My eyes sting, lungs burn and hands ache, grasping at straws for a meaning, an answer.
A cause or a cure, I have neither.
So, follow me if you will.
Scratch at my neck, howl in my ear.
Boast your very existence, until you forget how to be, swept downstream over the rocks.
A cause, a cure, meaning or answer, I have none.
None.