The ghosts are there.
Everywhere.
Whispering and wittering.
Chattering, chittering.
Hollering and howling.
LISTEN TO ME!
LISTEN to me!
listen to me!
My precioussss....
sss...
ss..
s.
Listen to my madness.
Listen to my thoughts.
My ghosts.
Trapped within the asylum.
With only you to listen.
You think you are alone in this deafening clamour until you look around and watch -and here I mean watch closely - the faces of those about and you realise that each and every one is dealing with the same internal personal discussions to a greater or lesser extent and bearing up with ease or weakness. Try, wherever possible, to open the heavy wooden doors that keep these creatures festering in the dark and let the light come in, strong and bright, as it is hard to notice a ghost within the brightness of daylight.
