Some say there is a ghost
not malevolent but real
who wanders the rows after closing
opens doors
sits icy cold in seats
moves velvet ropes aside
Some say they've seen her
or felt her moving past
But there is no legend to support this theory
no tragic myth
no tale of woe
no earthly reason for a woman to remain
bound to a facade
endlessly haunting half-finished rooms with no purpose
unless you consider
what else she might be
Not a person dead beneath the rubble
of a history lost
but the ambitious dreams
of people like me
who breathed heart and soul and passion
into a thing
into that thing
only to have it all siphoned out
leaving me a shell
fragile as an egg
perfectly empty
without purpose
while everything I was and wanted it to be
walks with phantom feet
around the place
where I buried myself
alive
for nothing