damm that ghost, it's see's everything, follows me around every night, won't leave me alone, all my secrets are exposed, it haunts my files as it trawls through my computers deleting word documents and writing strange cryptic messages searching google for music videos and pornography and it trespasses through my library. in the morning i can see the books it has been reading, they lay open abandoned on the floor, sometimes pages torn out and stuck on the wall. 
the spook has a prevalence for gothic romance and poetry, it's ripped up my hp lovecraft volumes and poe, it's torn pages from blake and byron creating hybrid stories and strange musings. some just seem random but mostly the narratives read of bleak romance, unrequited love in scandinavian castles and still crystal lakes, mystery and death and some opium flavoured words. 
the ghost hovers, it shimmers and shines, it floats through walls and through me, many evenings it passes through my flesh, momentarily our hearts connect, it's not a pleasant experience for the heart of this ghost does not beat, it is long dead.
when i light my candles it blows them out with its cold breeze and creeping wind, it pushes me into things and makes irritating noises, whispers and pleas, i sometimes feel my skin  involuntary crawl when it's near. 
as i clean my teeth i see it's reflection in the mirror, this is the only time it communicates i have discovered, through mirrors. i only have one in mission control, in the bathroom where a single scented candle burns, flickers and eventually extinguishes as the ghost is revealed, strange luminosity, unnatural glow, the bathroom temperature drops and my skin shudders.
standing in the cold room, darkness engulfs and in ambient light i can make out her shape and form, almost human, she's trying to tell me something, her lips are attempting to form words but instead some weird unnatural and pained sound escapes, like enochian, the words are shrieks and wails sometimes drone, short stutters and staccato bursts, with the occasional random coherent word. i piece it all together, 'is end uncertain future near always.' she repeated the words often out of pattern but these six words were the message, repeated in some anti symmetric loop for half an hour until i cracked it. she fades with a trace of a smile.
i rearranged the words and made the jim morrison line, 'the future is uncertain the end is always near.'
she had long departed never to return leaving me with this line to muse upon.