Hello
I'm not too good at writing
But I found this book in the basement
I'm sure she wouldn't mind
It'd been covered in dust and spider webs
But enough of that
I don't think diaries were made
For telling how they were found
Today was a good and bad day
I mostly roamed around the house (like usual)
I saw her (good day)
And she was crying (bad day)
I don't think living girls are into ghost boys
So I guess I should have stayed away in the first place
But I didn't like her being sad
I don't know if you're expecting me to say that I gave her a hug and dried her tears
Because I didn't
Ghosts aren't supposed to be friendly
I think that if she knew I stayed here
She'd leave the next day
I hope that won't happen
So I'll try my best to stay away
But as I was saying
I didn't get to make her smile
And even though I'm dead
I'm still painfully awkward and clumsy
And by painfully awkward and clumsy
I mean that I
An invisible ghost boy
Bumped into the coffee table
Spilling her drink
Knocking down her books
And scaring her terribly
Stupid
I'm so stupid
She left the house after that
I don't know where she went
And she probably isn't coming back
Because it's been a few hours
And the house is still empty
But I hope that she gives me another chance
And by me I mean this whole place
Because I'm not too bad of a guy
Really

Hi
It's been a while since I've been alone this long
I wonder where she's gone to
And if she's ever coming back
I'd like to be a regular old ghost
But being normal is something I lack
Normal ghosts spend their time being
Upset, angry and alone
While I'm here
Alone still
But completely taken aback by some girl
A girl who is very much alive
While I am completely and nothing but dead
Just dead and alone

November 8
Your words burned their way into my head
Each time you come around, they burn more and more
Last week you chose to visit
And ever since then
My head has been engulfed in flames
It began in the memories of the things you yelled
But lately it has spread to those of when your words were gentle and kind
When we would sit and drink coffee
And you'd tell me about all the things you adored

This morning I felt a calming
I think the fire has died down
And there is no love left to burn

November 11
I got a phone call today
A very angry man
Deep voice filled to the brim with bitterness
I don't recall meeting him
Although he knew my name and of me
And every time made him even more mad than the last
When I said I was unfamiliar with this man
He told me he was done
That I was just wasting his time
But I don't know why I'm hearing this
From a man that was never mine

Heaven is a state of happiness
Where your soul feels at home
Not the holy place of rest
Which only welcomes a good man's bones

My heaven is the smell of the morning air
It is the drop of temperature on the hills high up
And it is the taste on my lips from the coffee in my cup

I am not a poet
I don't carry a notepad in hand
Or drink coffee the whole night through

I cannot write of the wrongs life has given me
Or of that man who stole my heart and left me empty
I cannot write about missing you everyday
And I cannot write about hating every part of me

I am not a poet
I don't have stories like you do
I don't feel cold and hollow

I am not
A poet

Good luck
With life
With that man
With that friend
With yourself

I am not a poet
I am happy

Help a stranger
Carry a smile
Tell a joke
Sing a song
And then sing another
Tell your mom you've missed her like no other
Feed a stray
See a band
Climb a mountain
Grab some friends
And go on an adventure
That never ends

I remember last holiday
Your smile extended yards
And your laugh went on for miles
The gleam in your eyes never seemed to stop

But this year I see a change
Your laugh was empty and fake
And you were very sad by no mistake

Summer strips me bare of everything
Melts off that I had become
The cold wet weather formed my layers of rust
And now I am clean
But I am empty and bland
Bearing no function at all
I am told to start again
And build something solid
To last me more than a season
But my arms are too weak
And my vision is dotted

Everything you do
The devil is there
He spends his life lurking
In the most quiet parts of you

He's there in the words that roll off your tongue
As well as every blink
And every breath
That escapes your lung