I have a ghost inside me

Never think you are more powerful.
The sinister thumping in the middle of the night comes without warning. The darkness is all you see when you open your eyes – you hear something being dragged across the living room floor, as if a madman in black were hauling the bloody stumps of his victims to the kitchen - while you lay all cozy and warm four feet away on the other side of the wall.
You hear the chair in the kitchen slide over the linoleum floor, followed seconds later by a quiet sobbing. A dead man can weep for his loss, his untimely death, as easily as I can weep for what I've lost while still pumping blood within my rib cage.
But that sobbing, haunting as it is in a park at the height of a noonday sun, chills you all the more while half asleep in your inky black bedroom.
But my ghost, shackled still by blood and flesh, is stronger. You can take your sobbing and cry your ass back to the fucking pit. Put my chair back as you found it, else my spirit will leave my body long enough to tear your ephemeral form into phantasmagorical string cheese. Clean my floor from your disease-ridden presence, or my ghost will rain hell upon you. Cease the noise or my ghost will twist you into a truly terrifying mess of pathetic human refuse.
Your house is haunted, you say? It's haunted by you. You who sit and weep for love lost and never found again, you who fear the living, you who fear the limbless, impotent spirit – your spirit is merely caged with a ticket to poltergeist city waiting in the wings.
Be warned, spirits.
The entity within me is ready for war. Bring your thumps, your moans at midnight, at your own peril.