Marlon S. Hayes is a writer, poet, and author from Chicago, Illinois. His work can be found on Amazon.


I can feel my spiritual temperature drop,
As the darkness again invades my soul. 
Whimpering, wishing this would stop.
But the ghosts come anyway, leaving me cold.

Summoning happy thoughts, but I fail at first.
Immersed in regrets, drowning in bleakness,
I remember only the bad stuff which hurts,
Highlighting each and every weakness.

Oh, to be Peter Pan or one of the Lost Boys,
Soaring to heights, taken away on the wind.
Finding my happiness in games and toys,
Wishing for something to make me fly again. 

I cross my fingers, closing my eyes to pray, 
Pleading with God to feel better or at least numb.
So that depression and tears will not win today.
Because I am never ready, when the ghosts come.


The never-ending babble of well intended voices has begun to overwhelm me. 
Because every person in my life has an opinion or idea on whom exactly I should be.
Then they wonder why I no longer want to talk to them on a daily or weekly basis.
My truthful answer would cause looks of hurtful shock to appear on their faces.
I'd love to tell them where they could shove their unsolicited help or advice.
But that’s too harsh of a response, as most of them are just trying to be nice.
My relationship, finances, my goals, are all discussed, dissected, and analyzed,
By people on the sidelines of my life, who cannot see my life through my eyes.
The calls, the texts, the posts, the arguments, and the voices that never, ever cease.
The cacophony of chatter that makes me need alcohol or space, to get some relief.    


Her side of the bed was cold, invisible ice.
Untouched, unwrinkled, no blemishes at all.
He laid awake, bedroom festooned with lights.
His phone never rang; she didn’t bother to call.
In the early rays of morning, she walked in.
Smiling, radiant, her soul filled with love’s light.
He asked the question dreaded by any boyfriend. 
“My girl, tell me, where did you sleep last night?”

She laughed in response, apathetic to him now.
His heart fell as he knew nothing would ever be right.
His feelings had been bulldozed by a callous plow.
He no longer wanted to know about last night.

But it was too late; her careless demeanor gave it away.
Her lovely neck was decorated with a love bite,
And recognition ruined what could have been a good day.
And he knew where she’d been last night.