ghosties.

the ghosts validate this city,
with their pitter-pattering feet as they pass through the rain.
the trains come chugging down the tracks,
sliding through silver streaks of ghosts.
the ghosts overrun this city.
their eyes are pale, emotionless, stale.
with their cold fingers twisted around the throats of the living,
they sing and dance and play.
ghost song.
ghost chant.
ghost dance.
ghost death.
they swing along at the masqarade,
and slice the living fucks in half.