Ghosted Again

I often think about the dead
alternating between them
and the living
yeah, I hear the voices
reprimanding me over
bad choices
because I could be every bit
as stubborn as my
late mother said I was
got it from my long-gone dad
who was like a bull
to him just about
everyone was a matador
anyway, what does
it matter anymore
if he only saw red
in his black and white world
in the end
the same cape
for me unfurls