A Halloween poem

My favorite night.
My kind of
magic.
Pumpkins
ghosts,
darkness.
The night my soul used to come
alive.

But this year,
the magic is fuckin
dead.

Depression stole the
colors
the excitemen
the little piece of me
that loved this
night.

And somehow,
the scariest thing
about Haloween
isn’t the ghosts in the
dark.

It’s feeling like
one of them.
Alive.
But feeling nothng.