evaporate already!

I was a ghost, yet people could see me. They could see me because I was made of dirty light. If you put on sunglasses, I vanished. All the cool kids kept bumping into me on the street. All the hot kids kept looking at me and saying “Ayyy, I see you G!” I wasn’t wearing a white sheet. To outsiders I looked like ectoplasm, which is basically eel jelly or that weird jello slime from those mad scientist kits from the 90s. People kept trying to bum smokes off me. I’d ask them, “What? You think just because I’m a ghost I smoke?” And they’d be like, “Well no, it’s just, you’re smoking a cigarette attached to a chain as we speak.” Sighing as shades often do, I’d hang my head and hand over a few coffin nails and roll my transparent eyes into the back of my transpicuous skull. “What about a funny cigarette?” they’d solicit next, in which I’d reply “I’m in a trance because I’m a medium not high.” I felt misunderstood. I wish I knew a friendly apparition to hold my hand at an old haunted mansion where we could share spirits and woes. I really struggle with the idea that I might just be a result of neurodegeneration, or perhaps a poisoned water source. I just try my best to avoid being a spectacle to spectators or a dictionary for dictators or an introspection for inspectors. I’ve become something apparent to sense with no substantial animation. My survival is the persistence of implied subsistence. It’s better this way. At least I have my pet cat. She is of the tortoiseshell species or tortie for short. They’re known to bring good luck against shipwrecks and ghosts. Because of this she constantly tries to protect me from myself. Her tortitude often comes off as rude, but it’s actually a fortitude, of which I hold an amplitude of gratitude. Today I bought a pair of sunglasses and put them to use. Everyone evaporated. I couldn’t see them because they were made of flawless darkness.