Water

I am sneaking down the river, although why, I have no clue as nobody can see me. I am a ghost after all. The silt and oil slide through my being and I perceive them in a gentle, lulling way making me almost sleepy. If I could only sleep. I wouldn't have to think all the time.

Pretty in pink

Watery watery graves are awaiting those who don't dare
can't you see I'm still here.
My children don't even know I haunt them in the night
much less in the day.
But some perceive me here.
Some
know my tickle
And you never know who will respond.
There is this prettyinpink girl who is the most shallow, flappy kind of think you will ever imagine but when I touch her she giggles this pretty annoying giggle and slaps at the place, like I'm a tickly mosquito or something.
Sometimes as she is in class, and the work is quiet, I will fiddle with her hair and she'll let out this little yelp and ... everybodly looks up and snickers.

Sliding into the something

I slid into the mind of a city commissioner this eve. It was gloomy and dark in there. He had no thoughts of color at all, only this string and that of darkness sometimes dirty green and sometimes a speckle of crimson. Remind me never to check out that one again. I can't even find any watery ends to tie there. Urg.