Ghosts in the Hall.

  I walk past, my head down, my feet sure.

Can't make eye contact with them or they'll know I'm here.

Keep my head down, try not to interact.

Ghosts line the walls, they don't walk in the middle of the hallway anymore.

I don't trip over their feet these days & they barely recognize me when I do look up.

We've forgotten each others faces, but I know the smell every time.

You smell like death, my old friends.

You smell like hunger and that deep regret that only lives in grief.

All my dearest ghosts of the times I couldn't help, the nights that drained my soul.  All my hubris, my frustration, my shame and excuses.  

I have to walk past you still, all lined up there by the window.  

I know there's some good I did around the corner somewhere, but today all I can hear is the sound of incurable failure.

I smiled at my great-grandmother, there in the sacred hall.  She peeks through the withering wraiths and I wonder if she ever felt this way.  

Did they wait for you, too?  Will they ever stop waiting for me?