Phantoms

   In the small window of moon light that i have been waiting for, i was on the edge of my patience. Fingers poised ready to pounce on my old warn out typewriter. Madly inspired yet pensive, the outline of the story have been dancing in my head like suger plums in a childs head, near a wintery holiday. My house now sits alone on a once bustling block. It seems as if the fire took out all but this old house and a few phantoms that are lingering in my head. As if they want to stalk and taunt me.
   
   Though, there was a time when my stories just flowed, like minutes into hours and hours into days. Now the weight of this unexplainable presents is driving my time down a long and unsettling road. Sometimes i like to think im alone in the dark, but i know deep, deep down that im far from alone. Time to time i sit on my rickety, unsteady porch waiting for someone to come and save me from my soon to be madness, although the slightly ire chill in the air is unassuring. Not having anything to do with my time, due to the fact that they will not let me do anything uncluding write my story. I think about why these phantoms are keeping me here, maybe they want me to damage myself, or die of a heart failure because i have been breathing in tanted dust from the fire years ago.