You’re always life “seeking”       a reflection of my weirdness

   
I asked to be put into a room that was quiet,    
but to my amusement there were ghosts inside   
citing my haversian system of the matrix –  
   
they’re the ones who cause me to scream    
through centripetal force    
because I’m only alive by their musings,      
   
I tell them I’m not a poet, only accelerated energy,    
but they won’t stop harping on me.     
I think that ghosts, just like plucking my bones, are alarmingly funny.