What the Ghost Was Thinking

It wasn't like a dream It was rather a scream There wasn't any peaceful floating Or victorious taunt and gloating It was frightening and scary and red all over Damocles dangling as the scythes hover Everyone bawling their eyes out and Watching me splattering on the sand It was all gore and fury and blood and puke It was crucifixion it was poor Luke It was the ER with it's mangled victims Of crashes and accidents and machine rhythms IT WAS DEATH but it wasn't to me As i cast aside my broken body The only thing that wafted through me Was the crazy fact that I was free To watch them suffer for all eternity Weeping when they knew I had leprosy And would have died in coma and morose Without hands, fingers or toes