SEASON OF THE GHOST.

It is that time of year again
When I work hard without gain
For every penny is spent in the clinic
Some even think I am a psychic

It is that time when i hear voices
Speaking in to my choices
And I change my every route
Maybe to make a new routine

It is that scary of moments
When I cannot take critic comments
For my soul is cold and lonely
Of staying at a big home solely

It is that month of the year
The one I can hear rain beating clear
And I sleep with the lights on
Afraid of where I will wake on

It is that time when in the bath I slip
When I see the image in my mirror
And my mind turns muddy
It that season so fuzzy