Ghostwriter

Dear, you. I apologize if I scared you. It must be pretty nuts to see a pen write without a hand to move it. You can’t see me, but I ‘m here. Well, we’re here. We’ve been here since you were just a kid. You were scared of us then, maybe you still are. But you should know, we mean no harm. We’re really not supposed to communicate with you. Our job is to make grunts and moans, creak floorboards, you know, the usual. But you haven’t been yourself lately. We’re worried. The monsters under your bed are soaking wet from all the tears you cry. They don’t mind the water, though. They just want you to feel alright. The demons in your closet want you to know they aren’t the same as the ones in your head. Everyone around the office hates those guys. The phantom behind you watches you type messages that you don’t send. He says you shouldn’t be paranoid. Please don’t ghost your friends. I’ve seen the pills you keep around, just in case you need a way out. I tried to knock them into the trash, But I broke your lamp instead. I’m sorry. We used to watch you paint, and draw, and play guitar, but now all you do is lay under pillows, eyes closed, awake. We want to tell you we’ll always be here. We’ll always be under your bed, in your closet, around your room. We’ll always be here. You are not alone. Sincerely, The Things That Go Bump In The Night *author's note* Thank you for reading! I'm new to writing poetry, so if you have any constructive criticism that could help me improve it would be greatly appriciated!