Haunted?

A short poem about the adrenaline rush experienced during fear.

Full of fake goblins, ghouls, and ghosts.
Sometimes terror is what we enjoy the most.
I wonder why, terror inspires.
The fear is one thing of which I never tire.
The chills, the thrills, the screams are shrill.
Laughter eventually comes after.
Be it asylum or prison, the fog clouds our vision.
Is this what happiness is made of?