Sometimes I feel like I can I possess people. People that I have never heard of, never seen. I possess them for fraction of seconds, before their souls slips away from mine, like a gentle kiss. But the feeling lingers for a moment or two. I possess them through the yellow light of the half-burnt candle, through the windows up the storeys so tall, in the cold damp twilight. It happens in the moment when my soul goes blank and I am left with a clean slate and I need stories to feed on. Stories from other lives. So, I possess people, when a car brushes past me, when I am taking a was in the yellow autumn and a leaf fall. It’s a cue and my soul swooshes past me and I am in the zenith of feelings. I am the ghost of the autumn o’clock.
Was it supposed to be a poem?