Phantasmagoria.

Pale mist rising in the corner wall...
A grand conjuration to reap us all....
To whom will be frozen, or chilled, the most?
In the midwinter clutches, come the sigh of a ghost....

Phantasmic substance leaks out of the void,
Bringing its shade into an unaware thyroid.
All it wants is a companion...a friend...
But everyone runs away, unwilling to fend.

It creeps in the bedroom, where two lovers lie...
It seeps near their headroom, where the feelings are nigh...
One single touch to the head of the femme,
And she wakes with a gasp, thinking that it was him.

The man still slumbers, the man still sleeps...
She dashes down the stairs as something grazes her feet...
A flip she takes to land on her head...
Results in stillness, for the woman, is dead.

The phantom is angered, as he rushes from her blouse...
He meant no harm to the peace of this house...
But now, things have changed, and the fear will never end...
It haunts the forlorn hallways, breaking bonds between friends.