Kill yourself, and think of me when you do

Do you know why ghost stories can scare?

People like me exist.

We live, we breath, we feel, we think, and even though we die when time comes, we do not stay dead. Our hands reach out from the grave, through the dark between, until your living body we reach.

But I am not yet dead… and already I am haunting. Perhaps what is vital of the life that was mine died, and that is what haunts now, a corpse in a forgotten well, a soul murdered and betrayed. What can I say for my living flesh, a body now typing these words, life gone, soul passed on, person who I was now dead? I am not hollow, not empty, not without feeling… but I maybe what is in me is not what should be. I am wrong; a soul already dead with a body yet alive… and if the thought causes me to shudder… perhaps your skin will crawl away before I take it for myself, possessing you through these very words you read of mine, or even your own if you betray our love within.