Unsuccessfully Coping With The Natural Beauty Of Emotional Baggage Poem by Bryony Sheldon

She believes in ghosts,
Cold, cold, cold spectre,
And I'm having trouble seeing-
So she showed me something better

She's got moon-silver hair,
And she moves like a phantom,
She's always talking funny
But I don't ever hear her laughing

She believes in ghosts;
Says she talks to the dead,
Because no-one else will listen
(Or whatever she said)

I've never seen her smile,
And I never saw it coming-
Played Scrabble with a Ouija board,
Played me like it was nothing

White flash at the masquerade,
Her soul must not be saved,
Auburn leaves crunched underfoot,
She believes ghosts never give up.
White flash at the masquerade,
She still talks to that same old grave,
Auburn leaves shrouded in frost,
She believes ghosts never get lost.