Ghost Stories

This is fake
This is fake
This is fake
This is true
Is there an antidote for my cold blood
Or will my boots have to climb through the mud
As they make their way towards unstable grounds
To where many screams and tears were found?
Dare I stare deep into the eyes
Of the world that made all of my hairs rise?
I’m drunk and addicted to what I can’t see
I’m a problem with no help that can never be free
Sometimes I would rather be blind
Than have such irresponsible eyes
They’re never satisfied, my eyes
Till they see a sight where I might die
And what I would give it were all fiction
The imagery is borderline sickening
Yet I’m at the edge of my seat
And these dark ghost tales I’d like to meet
So sail me to the middle of Hell
And lay me down to cast your spell
My curiosity works for my pain
Unless there’s something wrong with my brain
If I am paralyzed, cut or dead
Or my limbs are lost or my skin turns red
Then lock me up so I don’t go visit
The voices of the lost and wicked