They Don’t Know They’re Dead

I think I hear footsteps
cutting across
my living room floor.

I imagine it a ghost
passing through my walls;
replaying scenes, believing
they are still breathing.

Bookshelves creak; faucets drip.

I fall asleep eyeing the door.

In the morning I will find

nothing out of place.

When night falls and the footsteps return
will it be the same, or another
haunting performer
reprising their role
in the history of my home?

Born, bred, and based in Singapore, Jowell Tan writes prose & poetry after hours for fun and emotional release. His nights consist of writing, rewriting, watching videos on Youtube to avoid writing, and finally, writing again. Please say hello to him on Twitter / Instagram at @jwlltn. He thanks you for your time.

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