The Haunted Mansion as my Ribcage

This haunted mansion is constructed
From my ribcage. That’s how I know
This body is riddled with ghosts.

While that may sound scary to some
People, I’ve grown accustomed
To mine.

And while you may imagine
Haunted as, dusty and cobweb-riddled
Silhouettes of untouched antiques
Dressed as ghosts themselves,
in tapestries of white.

I am anything but unchanged
Anything other than stationary.

While you may imagine
Haunted as, possessed by anguish.

I am anything but tortured.

And ghost, is sometimes memories,
And ghost is other times love stitched
within the tissues of each organ.

And ghost, is sometimes
Naturally meaning grief, but
Grief is the heart not broken
Grief is beating 60 to 100 beats per minute,
where the minutes move through blood
that is both mine and yours.

Naturally meaning,
pure physiology tells us, my ghosts carry
bones and flesh from one place to the next.
My ghosts curated this home.

My ghosts are welcome.

My ghosts are
This haunted mansion
Constructed from my ribcage.