Where They Still Are

I miss them. I miss them all,

Even though I must admit,
I don't want any of them
Coming back to haunt me.
Confess together, shall we?
There are no real, hungry ghosts,
Only ghosts we hunger for.

We are the living, hungry
Things who do not want to share
Our bounty, our bounteous
Memories. You can't have mine,
Not my ghosts, they're all for me.

So they come for each of us,
To be devoured, forgotten.