Ghostly images made real.
More real than any other thing
he'd ever come to feel.
He was dying when he
latched unto her soul.

Feeding desperately
on the life energy
that she contained.
And yet he never
really gained from that.

Her loss was never mentioned
in the pages of repressed society.
And his recovery was barely questioned
in the halls of bland hypocrisy.

Another ghostly image roaming
in this sphere of life, imagining
he'd get beyond the strife
that surely ended any hope
of life he ever had...

? Michaelette ?