We live in a land where footprints of ghosts linger

We live in a land where neither you nor I can decipher

A soul of the living or ones residing in the umbral

Stuck in the twilight zone, either a social drinker or the one using a breathalyzer

Vast array of choice’s please pick one to succumb to

Ghosts that left tracks

Watch the plungers get pulled back

Eventually they start to form new tracks

Ghostly formations begin during the years of preteen

Where most pick the same costume on Halloween

All for different reasons but with the same outcome

Promethazine, benzodiazepines, methamphetamine, freshly inhaled nicotine, then the flesh decaying xylazine

No response, like talking to ghosts

No narcan, faces become aquamarine

Time to welcome a new set of footprints

To a land where the dead and living are real ghostly