I may be haunted by a cunning specter.
In the back hallways of my brain
Long since abandoned
I catch the scent of another.
Sniff again and it is gone.
Hear a footstep and a closing door and nothing else.
I run from room to room
Opening hangered closets
Craning under stripped beds
To find this apparition yet to be confirmed.
I stand breathless on worn linoleum
Sucking in stale air
A faucet dripping into a rust-stained sink.
There is a slight scrape in the next room.
As I move to the door to continue my pursuit
I glimpse a possibly familiar face in a mirror clouded over.
Look again and it is gone.