There are ghosts, living quietly in the walls only making, slight noise to tap with white knuckles trying to, find someone crouched in the corner just as we, disturb them searching for studs and hammering, hanging pictures of dead people pretending, as if we really knew them well. Sometimes they, can guess wrong and scare furniture but surely, they can catch us with persistence since we are, so often pushed into corners as our rooms, are always so full with our voids and our own, persistence only leads us to buying more, of our ugly pictures or worse our long nails, scratching out what little they have in their space, poking holes in their freedom to stare blankly, at one another as if they were in love, or at the least trying to say "Let's just leave, and look for another wall with fewer holes."