Pure White Ghost

You've got my attention,
for you're my host;
which is still something I sure might boast,
though it makes me look crazy;
pure white ghost.

Tucked in my bed,
sleepless, you're stuck in my head;
"Nothing I've said,"
is something I dread;
pure white (ghost), the one thing I've bled...

We finished things,
or so I thought;
revisiting,
forgo, I'm taught;
diminishing
the ghost I sought.

Still, you've got my attention,
for you're my host.
You're like prose,
in motion, of course, emotions endorse
and endure my prost,
forever chasing that pure white ghost.

 
 
 
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